


Sanctuary

by Chickensarentcheap



Series: Tyler and Esme's story [2]
Category: Chris Hemsworth movies, Chris Hemsworth-Fandom, Extraction (2020), Tyler Rake - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Domestic Fluff, Drama, F/M, Romance, Smut, parenting fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:13:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 62
Words: 356,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24304222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chickensarentcheap/pseuds/Chickensarentcheap
Summary: Five years after nearly losing his life in Dhaka, Tyler has a second chance at life. A marriage.  Children.  A change of scenery.  But old habits are hard to break.(This is a sequel/companion piece of "I Found" but could be read alone)
Relationships: Ovi Mahajan/OFC, Ovi Mahajan/Tyler Rake, Tyler Rake/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Tyler and Esme's story [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1754608
Comments: 53
Kudos: 15





	1. Chapter 1

He listens to the sound of life...his life...drifting up from the floor below. Hands behind his head, eyes closed, the cotton sheets cool against his skin. Trying to squeeze in that extra bit of sleep despite the noise: incessant high pitched giggling, some squabbling and name calling, the occasional ear piercing shriek. Outside the dog is whining to be let back in the house; not wanting to miss out on the action and the endless attention and treats the kids toss its way. A two year old German Shepherd that one of his son's had...much to the chagrin of everyone else in the house...named Macaroni. Mac for short. Further back on the property, in a safely fenced off area, chickens cluck and squawk within their pen as two goats tend to making sure their area is free of weeds and any left over food. 

It's a simple existence. A four bedroom farm house in Telluride, Colorado that had taken three years to fully renovate. A mixture of white wood siding and red brick; old fashioned touches like claw foot tables and a storm cellar, along with the newer and more modern amenities: a home gym and fully finished basement with its own entrance, kitchen, living space, bedroom and bathroom. Pushed four hundred meters from the road, there's enough land for a decent sized hobby farm; the chickens and goats, three separate vegetable gardens, an above ground pool and tons of free space for the kids to play. There's a creek at the very back; running horizontally at the edge of their property line, a common meeting ground for deer, fox, and other wildlife. And the one thing that had truly sold them on the place -when it had been nothing more than a rotted old place that looked as if it should be bulldozed to the ground- a view of the snow capped mountains. A far cry from the sand and surf of Australia, but a paradise in its own right.

“Okay...boys...boys...you need to take it down a notch...” his wife's voice, a hint of exasperation in her tone. “..why are you like this? Please just go and sit down and do something quiet for five minutes so I can get breakfast started. Why do you have to act like wild banshees the moment your eyes open?”

“Maybe daddy's up,” one of the twins-Tyler Junior's voice. Or TJ as he's affectionately known to everyone in his life. He's the taller of the two: sharing his father's height and naturally broad shoulders, along with the same texture and colour of hair and brilliant blue eyes. He's the wilder of the two. Loud and boisterous. Fearless. To a fault.

“Can we go check?” Tanner now. Smaller and slighter than his older (by a mere six minutes) brother. With slightly darker hair than his siblings, and his mother's build and smile and the freckles splashed across the bridge of his noise. He's the quiet, introspective one. An old soul trapped in such a young body.

“You two get down from there,” Esme hisses from the bottom of the stairs. “No going up there. Daddy is asleep. He's tired. Do you want me to throw you out there with the chickens and the goats? Because I will. I swear to God I will.”

He smirks at that.

“Maybe he's awake,” Millie pipes up. Even more hopeful than her younger brother. She's a daddy's girl. Through and through. Has been since the moment she made her entrance into the world and had been placed in his arms, her entire fist closing around one of his fingers.

“I said no. Now all three of you get down here right now. Daddy didn't get in until late last night. He's had a very busy two weeks and he needs to sleep. Are any of you even listening to me right now? Are you feral?”

Tyler actually laughs out loud at that.

The kids have extremely keen ears, and their mother's patience is already running low, and now he can hear the pounding of little feet against the wooden stairs as they seize the opportunity and make their move. And he's just manage to slip into a pair of sweats and climb back into bed when the door is being thrown open. The twins collide with either side of the door frame; causing the human equivalent of a three car pile up. And they decide to just throw down right there and then; head locks and elbows to the face as they fight over who actually gets to enter the room first.

Millie takes charge, and with a roll of the eyes, simply shoves them both out of the way. She's tall and slender for only five. With unruly light brown hair and blue eyes that are always filled with both mischief and curiosity. A healthy mix of tomboy and girly girl: a room filled with both dolls and action figures. She enjoyed both tea parties and dress up but could turn around and climb trees and roll around in the dirt in the blink of an eye.

All three jump onto the bed to greet him and he finds himself tackled by the lot of them. Letting them push him down onto his back; a tickle fight immediately ensuing, followed by a wrestling match. They all love to rough house. Even Tanner, who is smart and compassionate like his mother but could lay an ass kicking on his bigger twin. They're tough kids. Both physically and mentally.

“I gotta pee!” Tanner announces, as he slides across the bed on his butt, jumps off and scurries from the room.

His brother takes it as a chance to catch him unaware, and in less than a minute they're in the middle of the hallway, rolling around on the ground fighting. It will end the way it always does. Tears. Maybe a black eye or a split lip. If left to their own defences, they'd spend a half an hour beating the hell out of each other followed by a quarter of the day declaring they hate one other. Then they'd forget about why they were even mad and once again join forces to wreak havoc.

Millie crawls across the bed and plops down onto her side, snuggling into him. Nestling her head underneath his chin, one of her hands on his shoulder. And he drops a kiss on her hair and wrapping an arm around her, pulls her close. Once again closing his eyes, enjoying a few extra moments of relaxation. Until she's moving against him and her tiny fingers are attempting to pry his eyes open.

“Wake up daddy,” her hand moves to his beard, giggling as she rubs her palm against it. “It's time to get up.”

“What if I don't want to?”

“It's breakfast,” she announces, and she's at his eyes again, growing frustrated as he screws them shut even tighter. “Daddy...” she grumbles. “...don't be such a boy.”

“I am a boy,” he reminds her.

“It doesn't mean you have to give me a hard time like the rest of them.”

Tyler grins. “You sounded so much like your mother just now.”

“Smart like mommy, cute like daddy,” she declares.

“Atta girl. You know what's up.” He opens his eyes: bright blue meeting bright blue.

“Hi!” she chirps, and leans in so they can rub the tips of their noses together. It's their 'special thing'. Something he'd taught her shortly after her second birthday. And she refuses to share it with her brothers.

“Hi.”

“I missed you, daddy.”

He will never grow tired of hearing that word. Or the way it makes him feel. How it fills him with a sense of accomplishment. That someone like him...with all the monsters in his closet and all the battles he's fought ...could both make and deserve something so perfect.

“How could you miss me? You were still up when I got home. I tucked you in. Read you a story. Five of them to be exact.”

“I missed you while I was sleeping,” she says, and fiddles with the chain around his neck. 

He'd been gone for two weeks this time; helping Nik with a handful of simple 'in and out' extractions throughout central and south America. Returning with little more than a couple of bruised ribs, scrapped up knuckles, and a small gash above his right eye. He only takes the easy jobs now. He has way too much to lose. A wife and kids. Even his own side business: home renovations and handyman work. A way having steady cash flow and being able to get food on the table, the bills paid, and keep a roof of over their heads.

She is investigating the cut above his eye now. It hadn't been deep enough for stitches, but the skin around it was starting to swell and turn a vivid purple. Millie had lost it when she'd seen his injuries; crying like she'd never cried before. The only thing calming her down had been a bowl of ice cream and those five stories he'd been suckered into. 

“You were gone a long time,” she pouts.

“Too long,” he agrees.

“Did you miss me?”

“Of course I did. Didn't I call you every night when I was gone? I missed you very much. And your mommy. And your brothers.”

“But not as much as you missed me, right? Because I'm your favourite.”

“I love all of you the same. I don't have any favourites.”

She pulls back, taking his face in her tiny hands. “Just tell me, daddy. I can keep a secret.”

It feels like a lifetime ago when she was just a tiny baby that he could carry around in one hand. Now she's in kindergarten, taking gymnastics, enrolled in martial arts, and willing try any sport that tickles her fancy. Sometimes he misses the old days. Getting up in the middle of the night to tend to her, feeling that tiny body just melt into his, smelling that powdery, fresh scent that clung to her hair and clothes. She's a daddy's girl. Always has been. And there's no sign of that changing any time soon.

He hopes it never does.

“Daddy?”

His eyes are closed again. Relishing the precious and all too fleeting moments with his first born. His only daughter. “Yeah?”

“I love you,” she announces, and it nearly brings tears to Tyler's eyes. She is so innocent and so pure, as is her blind faith and trust him in. She has no clue of what his other job entails. Just that he goes a way a lot and she hates it. And sometimes he comes back with cuts and bruises and the occasional broken bone. 

It's his number one fear: what will happen when she gets older and she learns just what he's been up to all these years. He worries it will change how she looks at him. Right now she adores and idolizes him; there's no problem that daddy can't fix, no toy he can't repair, no monster he can't chase away. Soon that will end. She'll grow out of that and their relationship will be different. And he worries that the truth and the monsters and demons of his past will drive her away.

He tightens his hold on her. Drops a kiss on the top of her head.

“I love you too.”

****

His family is gathered in the kitchen. The smell of pancakes, eggs, and sausage hanging heavily in the air as google home mini perched on a nearby countertop plays the current and most popular music. Tanner scurries back and forth between cupboards and table as he happily and dutifully finishes setting places for his mother. The baby in his high chair; ten months old, a lock of strawberry blond hair falling across his forehead, brilliant blue eyes focused intently on scooping the selection of dry cheerios and slices of banana on the tray in front of him. Declan is long and lanky like Millie and TJ. Feisty and mischievous at even such a tender age. The genes run strong in the Rake family. Never a doubt to strangers on the street that those four came from the same mom and dad. Especially the latter. Their appearances strikingly similar; both physical and in their mannerisms and facial expressions. 

“Help your brother,” Tyler instructs his daughter, placing her on the ground. “And no fighting over who gets what colour cup or what spoon.” They were only eleven months apart and while incredibly close and nine times out of ten the best of friends, they loved to quarrel. Their little pissing matches often turning physical. But Mille is strong and clever and never backs down from a challenge.

He joins his wife at the counter where she stands dishing food out onto plates. His hands coming to rest on her shoulders, then sliding down her arms and coming to rest on her hips. They’re wider now; she’s had four children after all. His children. Yet she is still firm and tone in some places, soft and more curvaceous in others. Her hair is shorter; skimming the tops of her shoulders, wispy bangs over her forehead. She is beautiful even first thing in the morning; a wide headband holding her hair away from her face, clad in a pair of simple black leggings and one of his t-shirts. And he leans into her, eyes closed as he breathes in the soft scent that lingers in her hair.

“Good morning,” his lips are against her ear, hands tightening on her hips as she pulls her back against him.

He feels her shudder against him and he smiles as he presses a kiss to her cheek. He had heard that once children came into the picture, a lot of women lost some, if not all, desire for sex. They were tired. Physically and emotionally. But not his wife. In fact, it had seemed to heighten her need for it even more. She’s always been insatiable; right from the very beginning of their relationship. The only woman he’d ever known -including his first wife- whose sexual appetite almost matched his. Last night she’d been especially in the mood; pouncing on him the second he walked into their bedroom. And then proceeding to wake him up twice in the middle of the night with no so gentle demands that he make love to her.

Who was he to say no?

“Good morning,” she tilts her head back and smiles up at him “Did you sleep okay? I’m sorry the kids were so loud and woke you up. They were excited you were home.”

“They only woke me up once. You woke me up twice,” he teases, grinning when she blushes, and presses a kiss to the tip of her nose. “By the way…” he places his lips against her ear once again, and presses his groin against her ass. “…you were incredible.”

Her blush deepens, spreading all the way to the tips of her ears. “You weren’t so bad yourself.”

“You definitely were not complaining,” he chides, and then kisses her cheek. Behind them, TJ makes a very distinct gagging noise. “One day you’re going like kissing girls,” he informs his son, as he leans back against the counter and accepts a mug of steaming black coffee from his wife.

“Never,” the little boy declares. “Girls are gross.”

“Your mommy isn’t gross,” Tyler points out. “Far from it. Daddy thinks she’s the most beautiful girl in the world. One day you’ll find a girl that you feel the same way about.”

“Nope,” his namesake remains steadfast. “Never. Ever. Girls that aren’t mommy are nasty. And kissing is gross. Just…ughhh…” his nose crinkles in disgusts as he shudders dramatically. Definitely his mother’s son with that little display.

“Kissing is where babies come from,” Mille announces, as she scrambles into her seat at the table.

“Well there’s a little more to it than that,” he says, and Esme digs her elbow into his ribs and shakes her his. “Well there is.”

“Like what?” Millie inquires. “Kissing and what?”

“Kissing and things,” her mother replies. “Things you don’t need to know about until you’re older. Much older.”

“How much older?” the five year old isn’t giving up that easily.

“When you’re thirty and your father finally lets you go out on a date.”

“Thirty!” Mille squeals. “That’s old as shit!”

“”Hey!” Tyler admonishes. “None of that. Only mommy says that word. She invented bad words like that.”

“Yeah…” Esme snorts. “…way back when the Pony Express still delivered mail.”

“I think you made the F word, daddy,” Tanner says, and his twin giggles beside him. 

“Someone needs to watch their language when little ears are around,” Esme scolds, and hands him a cold plate of eggs and pancake for the paper. 

“You might get your mouth washed out with soap,” TJ adds. “That’s what grandma says she used to do to Uncle Mike when he was little and swore like a drunken sailor.”

“Thirty is really old,” Millie muses dramatically, as she tucks her hair behind her ears. 

“Your mother was being generous,” Tyler says. “I was thinking more like forty.”

“Daddy, that’s mean. You can’t boys away from me that long.”

“Don’t say that him,” Esme pipes up. “He’s going to take that as a challenge.”

“She can date, but I’m sitting on the front porch with a gun in my lap until she gets home,” he vows, and his wife rolls her eyes and begins carrying plates of food to the table, leaving an extra on the counter.

The baby squeals happily when Tyler steps up beside the high chair and reaches up for him with dirty hands. Fists repeatedly opening and closing in a request to be picked.

“Mate…” he sighs, as he takes in the state of his youngest. Banana smashed into oblivion, smeared into his hair. “…why do you have to do this to me? What kind of mess did you go and make? Your son tried to shampoo his hair with his banana,” he informs his wife. “Look at him. He’s a bloody wreck.”

“How come he’s only my son when he’s bad?” she smirks, and tosses him a package of baby wipes. 

“Because the bad genes come from you,” he states, and then uses the wipes to clean the baby’s face, hair, and hands before unbuckling him and lifting him from the seat. Little arms curling around his neck, a face nuzzling into his shoulder. “Here we go, mate, here we go,” he says, and then slides into his chair. “Time to eat. Time to get big and strong so that you can kick some ass when you get older.”

“Really, Tyler?” Esme sighs. “Really?”

“Daddy said ass,” TJ giggles, and soon he and his brother are dissolving into hysterics and making fart jokes. Their sister rolling her eyes and giving them hell for being so rude.

Just another day in paradise.

****

“Well…well…well…” Esme grins. “…it lives. Long enough to emerge from it’s dungeon to eat.”

There’s a slight blush to Ovi’s cheeks as he enters the room, a sheepish smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he lays a hand on her shoulder and presses a kiss to his cheek. She may not be the woman that carried him for nine months and given birth to him, but she was very much his mother. Spending the last five years making sure he was well taken care of; nurtured, shown affection, encouraged to enjoy the simple things that came with a quieter existence. And he may not use the word, but he feels it in his heart. And he knows she does too.

He’s much taller now; half an inch shy of Tyler’s six foot three frame. He’s not as muscular and powerful as the man he considers his father, but is tall and athletic; a sinewy, well toned body from all the hours he’s spent lifting weights, helping out on their little hobby farm, and accompanying Tyler to his reno and handy man jobs. And while he lives in the apartment in the basement, he never misses a meal with the family. He craves the togetherness; the conversations and the jokes and hearing the kids giggling and playing.

He snags the plate of food off the counter and heats it in the microwave, then slips into the chair to Tyler’s left. “What time did you get back?” he inquires, as Esme moves to fill his empty glass from a pitcher of orange juice on the table.

“Around nine.”

“That was a long one,” he remarks, and Esme nods in agreement. 

She has gotten used to his time away, but still doesn’t like it. It’s cold and lonely in the middle of the night and sleep rarely comes; too many worries about where he is and if he’s okay.

“What happened here?” Ovi gestures to the area above his own eye.

“Just a little mix up with someone that wasn’t too happy with me. Nothing serious. Where were you? The car was gone when I got home.”

He’d been the one that had taught the kid to drive; taking him on back country roads in a beater pick up truck that they’d picked up for cheap. Ovi’s come a long way in five years; physically and mentally. He’s no longer plagued by the vivid nightmares of what had happened in Dhaka or how’d he’d killed Gaspar to save Tyler’s life, and essentially, his own. He had thrived in the public school system and quickly and effortlessly made friends. Joined the swim team. Ran track and field. Tried his hand at football. He had decided to take a year off from pursuing a higher education; electing to busy himself on the farm and learning how to use power tools, sweating under the weight of hard, manual labour.

“Ovi had a date,” Millie sing songs. “With a girl.”

He reaches across the table to tousle her hair, and she gives that musical little giggle. 

“It wasn’t a date,” he says. “I was helping her study.”

“Yeah…” Tyler smirks as the sips his coffee. “…it was 'studying'.”

“Right…” Esme grins from across the table. “…studying. I was a teenager once. I know what studying is code language for. Tyler and I like to study together. He’s actually an excellent tutor.”

“Which is why we have four kids,” he adds.

“I am never going to study,” TJ declares, causing the adults to laugh.

“Oh boy child…” his mother sighs. “…you are in for one heck of a rude awakening when you get older. No kissing and no studying? Come back and talk to me when you’re fourteen.”

“You’ll like studying,” Tyler says. “Even by yourself. It’s not as fun as when you study with someone else, but sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do.”

Ovi laughs, nearly choking on a mouthful of orange juice.

“Excuse me,” Esme directs a kick to his shin under the table. “When was the last time you actually had to study alone?”

“I was just gone for two weeks,” he reminds her. “Just because you wanted to study together when I got back doesn’t mean I didn’t have to study by myself while I was away. Go that long without studying? I haven’t gone that long without studying since I was fifteen.”

She holds a hand up to silence him. “Okay that last part is just way too much information.”

“Sometimes you have to study alone,” he continues with a shrug. “Because your study partner is tired. Or they feel sick Or they have a headache. Study partners get headaches a lot.”

She kicks him under the table to get his attention, then mouths: “I will kill you in your sleep.”

He shoots her a grin and a wink, reaching out with his foot in order to run his toes over her instep, along her shin, and then around to the heel.

At first she glares at him, glass against her lips, then gives a smirk and places her other foot in his lap. Causing him to clear his throat noisily and shift in his seat when she presses her toes into his crotch. But he doesn’t make her stop.

“So what’s her name? Esme asks. “This study partner of yours?”

“Chloe.”

“Oooo that’s pretty!” Mille gushes. “That’s a princess name. Is she pretty like a princess?”

“She is,” he confirms, but then reaches across the table to tousle her hair. “But not as pretty as you.”

“How’d you meet her?” Tyler asks, his hand slipping below the table to push his wife’s foot out of his crotch. The last thing he needed was to get up from the breakfast table with a raging hard on. He is almost forty one now, but she still has a way of making him feel like a horny teenager.

Esme pouts dramatically, then goes back to her breakfast. Foot now on his thigh, his fingers massaging at the bases of her toes. 

“The internet,” Ovi sheepishly admits.

Tyler groans. Jesus , mate. We talked about this. We’ve been talking about this for five years now. No social media. It’s too easy for people to find you on there and track you down.”

“I’m being really careful,” he insists. “My security settings are really high. I don’t use my real name. Esme has a facebook.”

“With only her family on it. It’s not the same thing. How’d you end up randomly meeting her online in the first place? Don’t tell me you did something creepy like sending her a message out of nowhere because you thought she looked cute.”

“It was a group. For single people in Colorado.”

“Oh for fuck sakes,” Tyler mutters, much to the chagrin of the kids; the twins giggling and telling he was going to get his mouth washed out with soap and Millie who immediately scrambles for the ‘swear jar’ that sits on the counter by the stove. Informing him that he now owes five bucks because it was a ‘really, really, really bad word’. “Why would you go on something like that? I get being lonely and wanting to meet girls, but for Christ sakes, mate.”

“I wasn’t thinking, I guess. I just wanted to meet new people and talk to them. I wasn’t really planning on meeting anyone. I was just wanting to talk.”

He’s had a handful of girlfriends in high school. Nice, down home kind of girls that came from decent families and seemed to have no secrets in their closets. Tyler had made sure of it: giving their names and addresses to Nik so she would do a little digging. Everything had come back clean, thankfully. But it was better to be safe than sorry, especially with kids in the house.

“How much do you even know about this girl?”

“Enough.”

Tyler arches both brows, waiting for a better response.

“We’ve been talking for a little while,” he admits. “A few weeks now. She lives in Butte. So when we wanted to meet in person, we agreed to drive hallway and meet in the middle.”

“How old is she?” Tyler presses. “What does she do for a living?”

“Twenty three.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the way his wife’s widen at the revelation. There’s almost five full years between them and while that had never stopped them, it seemed a little wrong when it was a nineteen year old boy being pursued by an older woman. 

“She teaches in a day care,” Ovi continues. “So she’d fit in really well around here. She loves kids and you guys have a lot of them, so…”

“I wanna met her,” Mille decides, and her brothers join in.

“You can’t just bring strangers to the house,” Esme speaks up. “You know that’s one of the big rules. We can’t just have anyone and everyone walking through the front door. How much do you really know about her other than her name, age, and what she does for a living? Do you know anything about her friends? Her family? Her background?”

“I can always get Nik to run a check on her,” Tyler suggests. “I mean, if he really wants to see this girl…”

“Still doesn’t mean I want a stranger coming to my house. Being around my kids. Wasn’t that we agreed on about five years ago? When we moved here and I was having the twins? That we wouldn’t take the chance of just letting someone walk through the door? There’s always a chance, remember? That someone is looking for us. Those are your exact words.”

“But if I get Nik to do a background check, we’ll get some answers. If nothing comes up, great. He can see the girl. If someone comes up, then he doesn’t. You wouldn’t, right?” he looks at Ovi. “See her if something came up?”

“No! I would never do anything like that! I’d never bring someone like that around here. I just want the chance to get to know her. That’s all. She’s really nice and really pretty and I think you guys would like her.:

“I’m going to like her,” Millie chimes in. “I already do. If she’s good enough for my Ovi, she’s good enough for me.”

“Pound it…” he says to her, as he holds out a fist and she enthusiastically responds. “…now blow it up.”

They’ve always been close. Right from the moment they’d brought her as a baby to the Mahajan house five years ago. It was the first infant he’d ever had contact with and he’d been immediately smitten; mesmerized by the little sounds she made, how she would look up at him with those big blue or wrap her entire fist around one of his fingers. And when he wasn’t holding or begging to hold her, he was playing the piano for her; having her in the car seat on the floor next to him while he entertained her with his favourite songs. As she grew older, she’d always referred to him as ‘my Ovi’. Sometime she’s even called him her brother, and when people tried to point out it wasn’t physically possible that they were related in any way, she’d argue that ‘Christmas presents aren’t always in the same wrapping paper and neither are people’.

Pretty wise for a five year old.

“It won’t hurt to take a look at her,” Tyler attempts to reason with his wife “What’s the worst that can happen? We see something we don’t like in her background and he cuts ties with her. That’s it. No harm, no foul.”

She’s become increasingly paranoid with each baby they’ve brought into the world. Always worried that there was someone out there just waiting to trample on the happiness that they had managed to find. And when he’d gotten back into the job without consulting her first, the worry became obsessive and all consuming.

And there was also some lingering animosity towards him on her part; that he’d willingly go back into a profession that put a target on not only his back, but hers and the kids as well. He no longer saw it that way; he was more than capable of protecting his family and there were others -like Nik, Yaz, and the rest of the team- that would help them out no questions asked. Besides, the jobs he took were considered low on the scale of risk when it came to severe injury or death.

“If nothing comes back and she’s totally clean, there’s no reason why she can’t come around,” he adds, and gives her foot a squeeze. “You know I’m not going to just let a stranger walk up in here. I wouldn’t take that chance. So I’ll get Nik to look her up. The kid does deserve to have a life. Isn’t that we brought him along with us in the first place?”

Sighing heavily, she uses her fork to push the remains of her food around her plate.

“Nothing is going to happen,” he assures her. “We do things this way, there’s no chance of something going wrong. Let’s at least give the girl a chance, yeah?”

“As long as you promise to have Nik look into her. And as long as you…” she trains her gaze on Ovi. “…promise me you won’t bring her here until Tyler find outs about her. I’m serious, Ovi. I can’t have some random off the street getting near my kids. I just can’t.”

“I won’t,” he vows. “I’d never do something like that.”

Giving a small smile, she nods and then pushes her chair away from the table and begins tidying up the dirty plates and utensils, instructing the kids to run upstairs and get cleaned up and dressed. 

“Is she okay?” Ovi asks. “She seems a little….mad.”

“I think she’s a bit pissed at me. I was only supposed to be gone four days and it ended up turning into two weeks. It’s hard on her. Being home alone all that time with the kids. This job was supposed to be easy and it turned into a real shit show instead. Definitely not what I thought I was walking into.”

“Well at least you’re alive, right? You’re home. At least you’re still here.”

“That’s all that matters, mate. Dragging myself through that front door. As long as I get home to my wife and my kids, it’s a good day.”

As long as he wasn’t being brought home in a body bag.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: profanity

They work silently and diligently side by side; tearing up the wood planks of the old back deck in preparation for the new one they plan to build. Tyler had opted to take the first three days off after arriving home; no new or existing clients until he had a least seventy hours to spend with his family and to get all the shit done (or at least started) that he’d been putting off for months. The kid -he still calls him that, always having to remind himself that he is in fact, just shy of being a grown man- has been a huge help over the years: always stepping up to the plate when it came to learning new skills, helping Esme with the kids, being the ‘man of the house’ when Tyler was away and keeping an eye on not only the house but his wife and his children. He’s matured: taller, a slim yet strong athletic build, his voice much better. Yet there were times where Tyler still caught a glimpse of someone much younger; that terrified kid he’d been hired to extract, the one he’d had to give a fresh pair of pants to because he’d wet his own, the one who’d clung to him on Gaspar’s steps, sobbing that he wanted to go home.   
  
The trauma had set him back a little. Maturity wise. And he still struggled with PTSD, depression, and severe anxiety. Being in a loving and stable home was helping that. He had responsibilities and priorities there; working hard at reno projects or with the animals and in the gardens. He was treated like he was one of their own; disciplined when he needed to be, expected to pitch in when needed. It had been a struggle at first: his own father had been non existent and an army of servants and other hired help had catered to his every need. He’d never known what it was like to have chores. The feeling of satisfaction it gave when a job was completed and you were given money for it. He’d rebelled at first; mouthy, rude, aggressive. But with the tough love he’d snapped out of it and calmed down.   
His moods have settled over the past two years since his mental health diagnosis; mostly due to a host of meds, some of it attributed to a less stressful and more relaxed environment. He is a good kid. A damn good kid in fact. One that was well on his way to becoming a great man.

“Hot today,” Ovi says, as he uses the front of his t-shirt to wipe his brow.   
  
It is mid June and the sun is high and bright in the sky. Hot for a standard summer in Colorado, especially so close to the mountains. But a far cry from the sweltering temperatures and suffocating heat and humidity that Ovi had spent more than half his young life growing up in.

“You’d think you’d be used to. You used to live in a lot worse,” Tyler remarks, as he tosses one of the rotted and weathered planks onto their quickly growing pile. Sweat gathers at his temples and beads on his forehead, and he pushes his baseball cap up and uses his own tank top to clear the perspiration off his brow.

“It never felt this hot there,” Ovi says, as he grabs a bottle of water from the cooler they’d brought out with them. “At least I don’t remember feeling this hot.”

“Probably because you were inside all the time. You didn’t have to do things like this. You could stay inside in the air conditioning all day, playing video games.”

“What did you use to do? When you were my age? Other than wrestle dinosaurs and drag women back to your cave?”

Tyler smirks. “You and Esme just think you’re so funny, don’t you. I turn forty and all the old timer jokes start. I see how it is.”

“I could have made it worse by mentioning all the gray hair that you’re getting,” the kid teases.

“Mate, all these gray hairs have my wife’s name written on them. Believe me.”

Ovi hopes up onto the edge of the deck, sipping his water while swinging those long legs back and forth. “Seriously though, what were you doing when you were my age?”

“I was already in the army. On my first tour in Kuwait.”

“That’s awful young to go to war. You were just a kid.”  
  
“So were you,” Tyler reminds him. “When you fought your own war. I chose to be there. To make it my life. You were a lot younger than I was and you didn’t ask to put in the situation you were in.”

“I suppose…” his voice trails off. And he absentmindedly picks at the label on the bottle in his hands as he watches the kids as they chased each other through the grass; giggling and shrieking with no cares in the world. 

“One day you’ll have some of your own,” Tyler says, as he helps himself to a beer in the cooler. 

Old habits die hard; he’d gotten back into the booze when they’d gotten home from their second bullshit visit to Dhaka. It wasn’t nearly as bad as before; he kept things in moderation and was able to cut himself off it he felt like things were becoming problematic. He no longer had a reason to drown himself in a mix of alcohol and pain killers. The demons he battled weren’t as prevalent anymore; he was able to shove them back down into hell where they belonged.

“Think so?”

“Why wouldn’t you? Kids love you. You’re great with them. You’d be a good dad.”

His entire face brightens; an enormous grin spreading from ear to ear. “Do you think you’re a good dad?”

“I don’t know,” Tyler admits, and leans back against what remains of the deck. “I know the first time around I was a pretty horrible one.” 

He doesn't think about it as often now. He remembers the days when the guilt plagued him; eating away to his core, burrowing through to his very soul. How he’d been struggling with the faded memories of his son until he’d nearly died on the Sultana Kamal Bridge. It had felt as if Austin had been right there with him. The sound of his laugh and his face as clear as day. He often wondered if it was because he’d been so close to death; right on the doorstep of seeing his son again. Now he only thought of him on special days; the anniversary of his death, birthdays, Christmas. And it wasn’t with an overwhelming sense of grief. But a bittersweet recollection of the good times they did have in his short six years.

His kids knew about their half brother; how their dad had been married before their mom and had had a baby. And he had told them -as best as they could comprehend at their tender ages- just what had happened to him: he got very sick and was in the hospital and the doctors couldn’t do anything for him. The twins had been confused; not fully understanding the concept of death. But Millie had been curious and asked a lot of questions. Even now she’d randomly come up with something. Wondering what he’d look like now and if any of them looked like him. If maybe she could go and visit him someday. She understood that he wasn’t an actual physical being any more. And in her mind he was in heaven where he was perfect and beautiful and healthy again. But could they go and visit where he was sleeping?

It was the first time that he had ever cried in front of his daughter. Reduced to tears by the sheer innocence and beauty of her request. And because he had absolutely no idea where Austin was. His ex wife had made sure of that. Her way of punishing him for his shitty, selfish choices.

“If I was a little kid and you were my father, I’d think you were a great dad,” Ovi remarks. “Your kids don’t have a reason to be scared of you. You don’t ever really yell at them, you don’t hit them. They know that they can trust you and that you can fix all their problems. They know they won’t ever have to afraid of coming to you and telling you things.”

The words hit home. Ovi wasn’t just speaking about his own father’s downfalls, but Tyler’s father’s as well. While Mahajan Senior was still rotting away in prison, Tyler’s dad was still back in Australia, as bitter and miserable as ever, and refusing to return any of his son’s phone calls. 

“And most of all,” Ovi continues. “They see how you treat their mother. They see that you love her. That you don’t mistreat her. That you respect her. That’s important too. That they see their mother being treated well.”

“Well, she’s a queen,” Tyler reasons. “And she deserves to be treated like one. She’s done a lot for me. Since the first day we met. Putting her own ass on the line to help me. Then giving up her life and moving to Australia. I doubt it was the life she had planned for herself. Meeting some random bloke on the job and giving everything up for him. I’m not the easiest person to live with. I know that. I may not always be the best friend and man for her, but she still sticks around. And she’s given me four amazing children. I wouldn’t give her or them up for anything in the world.”  
  
It’s the first time he’s been that honest with anyone, outside of his wife, about the way he feels about her. About them. About the life they have together. He usually keeps that kind of stuff closely guarded; always wanting to keep his private life just that. Private. But if he’s learned anything in the past five years, it was that life was too damn short to keep anything back. Because everything could be taken away from you in the blink of an eyes and you’d spend the rest of your life regretting that you didn’t say the things that so desperately needed to be said.

“I hope one day I find that,” Ovi says. “Someone that I love that much. Someone that loves me just the same.”

“You’ve got a lot of time left for that, mate. You still have a lot of living left to do before any of that should cross your mind.”

They lapse into a comfortable silence; sipping their drinks and watching as all three kids try to climb into the hammock strung between two trees.

“Can I ask you a question?” Ovi asks. “It’s kind of personal.”

“How personal?”

“It’s about girls. And sex.”

He’s honestly surprised that it’s taken this long for a conversation like that to come up. Not for a lack of trying on his part; he was always trying to get Ovi to open up about the girls he was dating and whether or not he’d had any sexual experience under his belt. And if he did, was he being careful about things? But Ovi would always get embarrassed and change the subject. Another sign of the maturity issues he struggled with, Tyler supposed.

“What about them?”

“When you first had sex, were you in love with the person?”

“I thought I was. But no mate, I wasn’t in love them. Not if I judge by what I know love is now.”

“How old were you?”

“Fifteen.”

“That’s pretty young. Do you regret it? Being that young?”

“I’ve honestly never thought about it. Why? Where’s all this coming from?”

“I’ve been thinking it a lot lately. About wanting to meet someone I love. Someone that I can give myself to in that way.”

“So you’ve never…you know…”

“No!” he exclaims. “Never! I’ve always wanted to be special. With someone special.” He frowns. “Why? Do you think that’s weird?”

“Nah, I don’t find that weird, mate. I find it pretty damn honourable, actually.”

His eyes widen. “You do?”

“It’s a personal thing, yeah? What we do, who we do it with, when we do it. Most guys would have long ago coughed up their V card. Just giving it to the first girl that showed even the remotest bit of interested. I think it’s admirable. That you feel the way you do. And that you’re able to stick with it. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. One day you’ll find the right girl. And you’ll know pretty quick that she’s the one you want to be with and experience that with.”

“Like you and Esme?”

Tyler laughs. “Let’s not kid ourselves. It wasn’t one of those love at first sight bullshit stories you hear about. Lust at first sight, absolutely. But love? No. It took a while for that to happen.”

“How long?” 

“I don’t know. A few months maybe. She was already pregnant when it happened. One day I just looked at her and she just looked so beautiful with my baby growing inside of her and I knew I felt it. I knew there and then that I was in love with her and I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. Sometimes I think she thinks I only asked her to marry me because she was pregnant and I felt obligated to do it. But that wasn’t the case. I wanted to marry her because I loved her. No other reason.”

He had felt something before then. The inklings of love perhaps. The beginning of the journey of falling in love with someone. He had known he wanted something more than just a sexual relationship; they had chemistry, a bond unlike he’d ever shared before with a woman. And he’d been looking forward to exploring that when Ovi’s extraction was over and they got back from Dhaka. That had been their plan; spend two months travelling together and getting to know one another.

But sometimes life works in mysterious way.

“If someone had have told you five or six years ago that this is how your life would be, would you have believed them?” Ovi inquires.

“Honestly?” he laughs. “I would have told them they were fucking crazy. I never planned on being a husband again. Or having more kids. I thought it was a one and done for me.”

“But you’re glad right? That your life turned out the way it did in the end.”

He smiles as he watches his kids. All three of them now cuddled up together in the hammock, pointing up at the clouds and talking about what animal or shape they thought they were.

“Not just glad, mate,” he says. “Fucking ecstatic.”  
  
****  
He sits on the front porch swing watching the sunset; the streaks of vivid pink and orange that paint the sky. His hands behind his head, one foot moving the seat at a slow, even pace. Listening to the chirping of crickets and the croaking of toads and the other various sounds of wildlife waking from their daytime slumber. It’s a peace and a contentment that he’s never known before; being able to take the time and just sit back and listen and observe what most people take for granted. He’s tired; weary to the bone. A mixture of the two week shitshow that is now thankfully behind him, and the work that he and Ovi had put in during the day. 

He aches; the lingering issues brought on by years of injuries, his freshly cracked ribs, and the touch of sunburn that he sports. He’s glad to be home. Grateful that he’s lived long enough to see this kind of view again. To be able to tuck his kids in bed and kiss them goodnight. To be able to just stand beside his wife while washing dishes and talk about random bullshit. There was no need to talk about the job; he preferred to leave it behind him once he stepped back in the door and she preferred to stay oblivious to just what kind of danger he was putting himself in. She knew of course. How could she not? She had been in the game herself once. But it was easier for her to cope if it was simply out of sight, out of mind.

The front door creaks open and he glances, smiling at his wife as she steps out onto the porch in her bare feet. A mug of a steaming hot beverage in each hand and a faded and worn flannel blanket tucked under her arm. She looks beautiful; no make up on those smooth, youthful features, her hair tossed up into a messy bun, wearing a pair of sweat pants and one of his shirts. Every day he falls more in love with her. Seeing the way she adores and nurtures the children they’ve made together, the respect and love that she shows towards Ovi, that way she just carries herself with a quiet dignity and grace, even if she may be falling apart inside.

“What’cha doing?” she asks, as she hands him a mug of black of coffee and sets her own drink -a honey and ginger tea- on the ground. 

This is their ‘thing’. For five years they’ve spent nearly every night -when he’s home and weather permitting- out there on the swing. It was their time together; outside of sex. When the kids were in bed and the world was falling asleep and they got to relax together. Rediscover all those little things that made them tick and had them falling in love with one another in the first place.  
“Nothing,” he replies. “Just sitting. Waiting for you.”

She settles down beside him; turning her body towards him and tucking her legs into her core, covering her bare feet with the blanket and then reaching for her drink.

He wraps an arm around her and she scoots a little closer; so her head rests against his shoulder. “Coffee?” he asks with a grin. “Are you trying to keep me up all night?”

“Why would I ever do that?” she counters, and they both laugh. “This is how I seduce you now. There’s no more sexy underwear or dirty talk. It’s a cup of coffee sending you the message that I expect you not to fall asleep after round one.”

He snorts. “When have I ever fallen asleep after round one? You must have me mistaken for your other husband.”

“Awww yes,” she grins. “The rich one that comes over when you’re out of town.”

“What’s he like? Nice enough guy? Big? Could I take him?”

“You absolutely could kick his ass. No doubt about it,” she sips her tea, relaxing under the sensation of his fingertips and thumb softly gliding across her upper arm. “What were you thinking about?”

“Kicking your other husband’s ass.”

“Don’t be jealous, baby. He can’t do the things you do. I’m only with him for the money.”

“I’d like to know where some of this money is, then. Because we need a new roof and a I need a new truck.”

“Money never came through? From the job?” It happens sometimes. You do all the heavy lifting and you get royally fucked in the end. Mahajan Senior wasn’t the first time it happened. And it won’t be the last.

“Definitely won’t be the pay day that Nik promised it would be. But anything is better than nothing, I suppose.”

Financially speaking, they aren’t hurting. They are careful with their money and now that some of Mahajan’s assets had been unfrozen, he’d been sending them some pretty hefty checks in exchange for taking care of his boy. Child support, in a way.

“What happened?” she asks. “It was only supposed to be four days.”

“I’m surprised you want to talk about it. I thought you liked me to leave it on the porch when I got home.”

“Just curious, I guess. I suppose I feel like I have the right to know why Nik keeps sending my husband to these godforsaken shit holes.”

“In all fairness, I’m the one that picks which godforsaken shitholes to go to. She’s just the one that lets on that things are going to be easier than they are.”

“So what did happen?”

“Just a whole bunch of little fuck ups that when added together just made one big fuck up. Problems with the radios, issues with communication on both sides, a lot more hostiles that anyone thought there’d be, a mix up on where the extraction site was supposed to be. Just a regular old shit show. But it got done. Eventually.”  
  
She nods, sipping at her tea. She remembers those days all too well.

“But it’s done. It’s over. I’m home now and that’s all that matters.”

“How long is it for? How long do we actually get you here for?”

“I call the shots, remember. I don’t have to take every job she brings my way. Hopefully she gives it a couple weeks before she’s ringing me or knocking on the door.”

“I hope so, too. Because I really need you to fix the toilet in the basement.”

He grins. “So that’s all you need, huh? You need me to lay a little pipe.”

“You’re such a pig,” she laughs. “And don’t sell yourself short. In your case, it is way more than a little pipe.”

“You’ve always been very good for my ego,” he says, and drops a kiss on the top of her head.

“Hey, I call them as I see them.”

“Kids asleep?”

“Finally. Those little shits. What is wrong with your children? Why do they have to be the way they are?” She’s teasing; saying it with the utmost love in her voice and sparkling in her eyes. “I can’t believe you wanted more than one.”

“Well one was twins,” he points out. “So we have four but technically we only went through it three times. So…”

“Don’t even think of following that up with anything. Nothing good will come after that. If you want another baby, you get your mistress to give you one.”

“Which one of the three?” he jokingly retorts.

“You’re such a dick sometimes.”

“Hey, if you can have another husband, I can have a couple mistresses. Don’t worry, babe. None of them are as good as you. I keep coming home, don’t I?”

“You must be a glutton for punishment. You keep coming back for more. Bet you’re wishing you were back in that little shack with bathroom chicken to keep you company.”

“Naw…” he gives her shoulder a squeeze. “…I’ll take you over bathroom chicken every day.”  
  
****  
They remain on the swing long after the sun has set. The moon full and bright; the velvet sky dotted with thousands of clearly visible and glistening stars. He continues to push that swing; one foot moving it back and forth, his arm still wrapped around her, her head on his chest. And he’s just beginning to wonder if she’s fallen asleep and he’s going to have to actually carry her inside when he feels her move against him. And when he opens his eyes, he finds her sitting straight up -facing him- staring at him intently.

“Stop being a creeper,” he teases.

“This coming from a guy who once confessed to smelling my hair.”

“That was five years ago and you took that way out of context. What I said was that you should be standing close enough to me that I could smell your hair. Not that I did I smell your hair.”

‘Bullshit. I bet you would lie awake at night sniffing my hair. You forget that I’ve known you for five years. I know what kind of weird shit you’re into.”

“Well smelling hair is not one of those things. Why are you staring at me?”

“I’m not allowed to stare at my husband?”

“Not if you’re silently plotting my death while you do it, no.”

Frowning, she reaches up and traces her fingers over the cut above his eye. 

“It’s fine. I ran into a fist.”

“God I hate when that happens. You should have gotten that looked at. It probably could have used stitches.”

“Medic said it wasn’t deep enough. Just to let it heal on its own.”

“And your ribs?”  
“Sore. But nothing much I can do about them either. Other than taping them. And I’m not doing that so…”

“You’re a stubborn shit even now, Tyler Rake. I thought for sure you’d grow out of that. Are you sure they’re just bruised? Because if they’re broken they could cause some serious problems and…”

He silences her with a kiss. Long and soft and sweet. “I’m fine. Honest. I’ve had worse.”

Wasn’t that the truth.

“I was worried,” she confesses. “When the fours days were up and you still weren’t coming home. I thought maybe there was something you weren’t telling me.”

“Like maybe I was with one of my mistresses and not really working?” he teases, and she scowls. “Things just went to shit. Things that were totally beyond my control. Believe me, I wanted to be home after those four days too. Who doesn’t want to get home and have to read Goodnight Moon half a dozen bloody times in a row.”

She smiles at that. “I missed you.”

“I know. You showed me that three times last night.”

“You’re impossible,” she huffs, and when she stands up and attempts to leave, he grabs her by the hips and pulls her onto his lap; her knees settling on either side of his hips.

“I missed you too,” he says. “A lot.”

“So much you had to ‘study’ alone?”

“Now who’s being a smart ass? And yeah…that’s part of it, I guess…but I just missed you. I missed sitting out here every night and just talking. I missed waking up beside you and seeing that sleepy little smile. I even missed hearing you bitch about me leaving the toilet seat up and dirty socks on the floor. I just missed us.”

She smiles, and taking his face in her hands, presses a kiss to his lips. “I can’t help but worry about you. I know you wish I wouldn’t. But I can’t help it.”

“I know,” he runs his hands up her sides and around to her back. 

“You’re crazy you know. For going back to it.”

“I know that too.”

“I know I said I’d support you no matter what, that I said I was behind you one hundred percent, but it doesn’t mean that I have to like it. That I have to sit back like a dutiful little wife, ignoring the danger you’re in, pretending that it doesn’t exist.”

“I don’t expect you to,” his palms travel over her shoulders and down her arms, stopping at her wrists. Fingertips tracing a circular pattern on the tops of her hands.

“Aren’t you sick of this life yet, Tyler? Aren’t you sick of the bullshit? Of all the fuck ups and all the worrying and all the wondering if you’re actually going to make it back home?”

“The money’s good.” It sounds pathetic even to him. But it’s the truth.

“Good enough that you’re willing to die for it? When is it going to be enough? When will these goddamn suicide missions stop? A year from now? Two years from now? Ten? When you wind up crippled? Or worse, when you wind up dead?”

“I already told you just one more year.”

“You said that last year. And the year before. And the year before that.”

“Yeah, well this time I mean it. The kids are getting bigger. I’m starting to miss too much. And I see what it’s doing to Millie. When I’m gone for longer than expected and I come home all beaten to shit. I don’t want to have to tell her the truth. About what I’m doing. At least not until she’s older.”

“She idolizes you. There’s no one in this world that she loves more than you. As far as she’s concerned, you can do no wrong.”

“I guess she’s going to be real bloody disappointed years from now when finds out who I really am.”

“Who you really are is her daddy. That’s all that matters to her. That’s all that should matter. Come home, Tyler. To stay. No more running off. No matter how good the money is. Because I can guarantee that we need you a lot more than Nik does. Promise me. This year is the last one. You get this all out of your system and you just come home and stay home.”

“I promise,” he says, and laying a hand on the back of her head, pulls her into him. The kiss is slow at first; closed mouth moving upon closed mouth. His free hand sliding up the bottom of her t-shirt and up her back, fingertips gliding along her spine. And he feels her shudder against him when his feathery touch passes over the small of her back. 

What happens next can only be described as a good old fashioned make out session. The type teens get caught up in on the couch in their parents’ basement. Hungry, demanding kisses, greedy hands exploring through the fabrics the still covering their bodies, his hands on her hips as she grinds her pelvis into his. Simple yet sexy enough to get him rock hard in his sweats.   
They’re both breathless when he pulls away, running his hands through her hair and taking in her wide pupils and her flushed face and her heaving chest.

“Maybe we should go inside,” she breathlessly suggests.

“Maybe we should. Maybe we can even try for number five.”

She frowns. “Don’t push your luck.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: SMUT. profanity

He will never tire of the way his name sounds as it escapes her lips. Whether it be the soft, content sighs, the urgent pleading, the breathless moans, or the unabashed screams at the very height of pleasure. The latter is his favourite; picturing the way her entire body tenses and her toes curl, eyes closing and head falling back as she loses all control. It’s a sign of a job well done. His ego kicked up a notch knowing that he’d been the one that had been able to elicit that kind of reaction out of her. 

And then there’s her hands. Greedy. Desperate. Clutching and grabbing at his forearms, biceps and shoulders. Fingers twisting and yanking at his hair; painfully tight on some occasions. Nails that would dig into his ass and his back, leaving long red trails of broken skin in their wake.

She sighs. Long and drawn out as her back arches and her hands clutch at the sheets below. Her eyes are closed; dark hair fanned out across the pillow, heels digging into the mattress. Feeling the goosebumps that have invaded her skin; hands and mouth working together, drawing out those little whimpers that make her sound so vulnerable. Fingertips ghosting over the back of her calves and lingering behind her knees as the tip of his tongue makes a slow and agonizing ascent, starting at the side of her ankle and dragging along her smooth, pale skin. Lips suckling, teeth nipping, his hair brushing tickling her flesh. 

Unlike last night when all three times had been fast and furious, he takes his time. It’s been a long, agonizing two weeks and he has a lot to make up for. Another absence, more time away from his family, his wife picking up all the slack and doing the work of two. He feels selfish; guilty that he expects so much of her while he’s away, but always grateful and appreciative when he returns home. But sometimes words aren’t enough; nor are the flowers or the little gifts. Sometimes actions are truly what is needed. And she deserves to be worshipped like the Queen that she was. From head to toe.

The tip of his nose brushes the inside of her thighs and he draws the supple flesh between his teeth, lightly biting down before soothing the red, irritated area with his tongue. Her hands reach for his hair; longer since they’d first met, unruly and unkempt, falling across his forehead and shielding his eyes. Fingers glide across the back of her knees and then travel before; applying pressure, squeezing, pinching, until he slides both hands under her ass and it rests in his palms. She’s already wet; he can see the arousal that seeps out of her, feel the heat that she emanates, and he inhales that sweet, intoxication scent. Better and more successful than any other aphrodisiac in the world. His cock immediately hardening; painful even in the confines of his baggy sweats. 

“Tyler…” she says it now, a whine that tumbles from her lips. He’s never heard a more beautiful sound. 

She’s tugging on his hair; attempting to pull him closer in a desperate attempt to get his mouth on her. It has always been one of his favorite things; tasting her, teasing her, getting his fingers and his tongue deep inside. Gladly spending hours with his face between her legs; eating her out until she was delirious and shrieking with pleasure. Giving her mere minutes to recuperate before going right back to it. He is an unselfish and generous lover; she’d told him that once. And he’s taken it upon himself to be the one that gives her everything that no one man before him had ever been able to achieve. Wanting to be the one that erased all those other experiences out of her memory.   
She gasps when she finally feels his mouth of her; thighs falling open when his tongue licks a long, wide strip along her folds and then sneaks its way past; finding that tingling and sensitive bundle of nerves and taking it between his lips. Suckling. Gently at first, then much harder, until her hips are arching off the bed and that sopping pussy is forced into his face. He accepts it willingly; fingers biting into the flesh of her ass as he feasts on her; as if he’s been starved and neglected for months and has no idea when this chance may come again. His main focus is her clit; tongue pressing against and eliciting a loud gasp.  
  
“Shhhh…” he whispers, breath warm against her mound. “…you’ll wake the kids.”

She opens her mouth to respond but all that comes out is a whimper, his tongue inside of her now. As deep as it can possibly go, fucking her while one of his fingertips slips between the cheeks of her ass and briefly comes in contact with the tight, puckered hole. She’d once considered that an ‘exit only’. Until she’d finally relented and let him go where no man had ever gone before. The sensation brings out shriek, and she places her arm over her face and uses the crook of her elbow to stifle the noise. A disappointed groan when his finger retreats and one hand returns to the cheek of her ass and the other moves forward; two fingers holding those swollen lips open as he continues to ravage her. Licking, sucking, nibbling, until she’s panting and breathless and crying out into her elbow. And when he knows she’s close…when he can feel the way her body tenses and those hands tighten their hold on his hair…he takes her clit into his mouth and a finger pushes its way into her ass.

The orgasm is intense, surging through her with the force of tsunami. And there’s tears rolling down her cheeks as she screams his name. The noise muffled by her own arm, her entire body arching clear off the bed. 

He gives her a chance to recover; grinning as he sits back on his heels and uses the front of his shirt to clear her juices from his lips and beard. A hand softly stroking and massaging the back of her right calf as her body comes down from its high. Listening as she whimpers and struggles to pull air into her lungs, seeing the flush in her cheeks and the sweat that glistens on her naked body. And when the trembling finally subsides and her breathing has almost returned to normal, he presses his lips to her stomach and then moved upward; palms on the mattress as he trails kisses up her body; over her torso and through the valley between her breasts, across her collarbone and the along the side of her neck and jaw. Then finally reaching her lips.

“That was a good one, yeah?” the grin is broad. Proud. What better of an ego boost to know that you have that kind of effect on someone?

“Mm hm,” she manages, and her hands push through his hair as she lifts her head to kiss him.

Soft and languid at first. Until he feels the press of her tongue against his lips and then his teeth; her arm curling around his neck and pulling him down on top of her. Not caring if her body has to bear his full weight; their tongues fighting for dominance, his hand exploring her body as her nails dig into the nape of his neck. And it’s his turn to shudder against her when he feels those fingers on his back; lazily feeling their way along all of the muscles, fingertips tracing the outline of his tattoos by sheer memory. 

“Fuck…” he hisses, when those nails scrape down his hip and down the back of his sweats. 

She’s a vicious little thing at times. Scratching. Biting. Hair pulling. And he always just goes along for the ride; turned on by how assertive and aggressive she can be. A woman who knows exactly what and who she wants and doesn’t allow any inhibitions to hold her back. Her hand moves to the front now; fingers wrapping around his cock, a thumb brushing over the tip and smearing the precum that has gathered there. 

Her teeth latch onto his bottom lip; hard enough to puncture the skin. Her free hand grabbing a hold of the waist band of his pants and showing them down his hips and over his ass. Anxious to be closer to him. To have all of him. And he slides a hand between her legs once more; fingers teasing her clit before dipping inside. 

“No babies,” she says, and he nods in understanding and kisses her before sliding off the bed, sitting on the edge in order to pull his sweats from around his ankles, then standing and crossing the room.

“Goddamnit you’re sexy,” she declares. “It really is unfair. To be that sexy. What a heavy, tragic burden you have to bear. I honestly don’t know how you do it.”

He grins, then pulls open the top drawer of the dresser and removes a condom from the box he keeps stashed away inside. It’s weird; resorting to rubbers when the only person you’re having sex with is your wife. They long ago had to stop worrying about STDs. But with the lingering chance of one day having a fifth and last child and the propensity of things fucking up regardless of what birth control she seemed to use (exactly how Declan managed to make his way into the world), it is what is. 

“You want to keep laid on the regular?” she’d said when he’d had the gall to complain about having to buy condoms. “Don’t want to get the snip? Then be quiet and just buy them.”

The thought of not being able to get his rocks off and the idea of a vasectomy had been enough to spur him to action.

“You need a haircut,” she remarks, as he uses his teeth to tear at the foil package.   
  
“You’re really bringing this up right now?”

“You look homeless. Or like a more masculine version of Justin Bieber if he took steroids and grew a beard.”

He gives a derisive snort, then leans down and kisses her before rejoining her on the bed. Settling himself between her thighs, the condom in the palm of his hand. “Please tell me you don’t think of Justin Bieber when we’re fucking. Because if you tell me you do, I may never be able to get it up again.”

“Baby, the way you look and the way you do things? I don’t have to think of anyone else. But seriously…” she shoves his hair away from his face. “Do something about this. I can’t take much more of it.”

“I’ll shave it off. All of it,” he says, and supporting his weight on his fully outstretched arms, leans down to press kisses along her shoulders and collarbone.

“Like hell you will. You shave your whole head and you’re sleeping on the couch for the rest of your natural born life.”

“I know what you want,” he grins against the side of her throat. “You want me to get it done like how it was when we first met.”

“Sexy as fuck,” she declares, and then sighs when his tongue traces the outer edge of her ear. “I think it’s only reasonable. I’ve given you four kids. The least you could do is get a haircut.”

“I do a lot.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

He bites down on the side of her neck and presses his erection against her.

“Okay, you make a very valid point,” she says, and then pulls him down into a sizzling kiss. The kind that makes your toes curl and your insides feel as if they’re on fire. 

Those hands are wandering again; over his shoulders and down his arms, travelling over the straining muscles in his biceps and forearms, along the prominent veins. And then her mouth is on his throat; tongue sliding over his Adam’s apple and up onto the bottom of his chin.

“You taste good,” she informs him, and for some reason it drives him wild, and he kisses her savagely. Tongue forcing its way into her mouth before sitting back on his heels and rolling the condom down his erection. Her hands already reaching for him and her legs opening, an invitation to take what he wants. What is his. 

He slips into her with one fluid, strong thrust. One hand on the mattress and the other taking hold of one of her; pinning it to the bed above her head, their fingers entwining. His eyes never leaving hers as he makes love to her; slow, languid thrusts that has her mewling in pleasure, her hips rising and falling in rhythm with his. It’s a rarity for them; their thing has always been rough sex. She’d always enjoyed it the most. When he was bossy and domineering and would pull her hair and wrap his fingers around her throat. A kink, he supposed. And he wasn’t about to deny her of it. 

But tonight is different. Welcoming. All the worry and the stress of the past two weeks dissolving as they exchange long, slow kisses and their bodies move together. 

“Tyler…” his name again, sounding so fucking good to his ears. And she’s looking at him with those huge eyes; pleading, begging. Her fingers tightening around his and her hips rising. 

He kisses her. Trailing the tip of his tongue along the roof of her mouth. Then sits back on his heels once again and grabbing a hold her hip, pulls her towards him. The new angle allowing him even deeper and causing her to cry out. With their hands still joined, he places his free hand on her pubic bone and uses his thumb to rub at her clit. Thrusts more determined and aggressive now. Teasing and massaging that swollen bundle of nerves until she comes undone around him. And she grabs a hold of a pillow and places it over her face in order to keep the noise to a minimum.

“You are so beautiful,” he praises, as his hand slides over her stomach and up to her breasts. Squeezing, fondling, fingers pulling and twisting at the nipples. 

Those simple actions bring on yet another orgasm. Not as powerful as before, but enough to increase that flutter of twitches and contractions around his cock. Gritting his teeth at the almost painful grip and pushing through those muscles attempting to keep him out. Until he feels the familiar pressure build in the small of his back and he’s coming as well; her name and profanities on his lips as he empties himself into the condom.

For several minutes he stays where he is, chin to his chest, eyes closed, lungs fighting to draw in breath. Waiting until the post orgasmic haze as lifted and his body stops trembling before he inhales deeply, eyes opening as he slowly exhales. Grinning at the sight of her lying there with the pillow still over her face.

“You okay?” he asks, and softly rubs her stomach. “You alive?”

“I think so,” she replies, and he plucks the pillow from her face and tosses it aside. “Goddamn you for being so good at these things,” she sighs, and he leans down to kiss her.

He runs a hand over her hair and presses a kiss to her sweaty brow before climbing off the bed and heading for the en-suite bathroom. Ditching the condom, taking a leak, splashing cold water on his face and the back of his neck. Turning slightly in the mirror and casting a glance over his shoulder; smirking at the bright red and violent looking scratch marks that travel horizontally and vertically.

She’s lying on her side when he returns; already back in the t-shirt that had been discarded some time ago, the covers pulled up to her chin. And he slips into the sweats once again and turns off the bedside lamps before sliding in beside her. On his side, a hand on her hip as he places a kiss on the back of her head.

“I love you,” he says. It’s one rule they’ve always stuck to. Never go to bed, leave the house, or end a phone conversation without those three words.

“I love you too,” she responds, and settles back into him, head tucked under his chin.

Both asleep in minutes.  
***  
He’s not sure what wakes him. Whether it was the sound of the dog snoring at the end of the bed, the settling of pipes within an old house, or the steady wind that causes the windows to rattle and tree branches to scrape against the siding. But his eyes snap open and he finds himself flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling. Waiting. Listening. His brain caught in that place between sleep and consciousness; struggling to fully orientate himself with his surroundings.

When his senses finally kick in, they’re good. Shockingly good. Years of training and learning to always be on alert means he no longer has to strain to hear things that normal people either ignore or actually aren’t aware of. He can hear one of the kids rolling around and muttering in their sleep. The gentle hum of the central air. His wife’s gentle and rhythmic breathing. And he’s ready to close his eyes once more and attempt to get back to sleep when he hears it: a rustling noise coming from downstairs, followed by a clatter of something being knocked off its perch.

The dog lifts his head and growls. Ears back. On alert. 

“Easy boy,” Tyler says, as he carefully slides out of bed in an effort not to wake his wife. Last year they’d thought they’d had an intruder when in reality a raccoon had gotten into the house through the chimney. If it was indeed nothing, he didn’t want to freak Esme out. “Easy…” he whispers to the dog, holding his palm out: a signal to just stay. He goes to the window first, peeling back the edge of the curtains and peering outside. No vehicles other than their own in the driveway.

He opens the bottom drawer of the nightstand and reaches for the combination lock box. Quickly unlocking it and pulling out the Glock handgun, snapping a magazine in place and switching off the safety. Mac watches him with wide, curious eyes, and he once again signals for him to stay as he heads for the door. Pausing long enough to listen to the noises coming from downstairs before quietly pulling the door open.

“Tyler?” Esme’s voice from behind him. Groggy from sleep. She’s sitting up, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Just stay here,” he orders. “Don’t make a sound. Stay here and don’t come downstairs until I tell you it’s okay. Got it?”

“What is it? What…?”

“Got it?” he repeats, and she nods  
.  
“Be careful,” she whispers, just as he slips from the room.

****  
His footsteps are quiet on the carpeted stairs, gun to his side, adrenaline coursing through his veins. It normally doesn’t happen anymore; the hazards of the job and the rule of ‘expect the unexpected’ long ago engrained into him. But this wasn’t the job. This was personal. This was his home. His wife. His kids. And there was nothing he wouldn’t to do protect them.

He has one foot on the bottom of the landing when he sees it: a dark figure in the hallway between the living room and the formal dinning room, making its way towards the kitchen. And he has the gun drawn and pointed now, a finger on the trigger.

“I don’t know who you are, but you picked the wrong fucking house. You have to three seconds to tell me who you are and what you want before I put a bullet in your brain.”

“No!” a familiar voice cries, and the light in the hallway is switched on. Revealing a confused and very terrified Ovi.

“What the fuck, kid?!” he lowers the weapon, sets the safety. “Like what in the ever-loving fuck?! I almost shot you.”

“I’m sorry!” he cries. “I didn’t mean to scare you! I didn’t…”

“Tyler?” Esme’s voice is at the top of the stairs, sounding equally as scared and nervous as Ovi.

“It’s fine,” he responds, and tucks the gun into the waist band of his sweats. “You almost had to call for the coroner, but it’s fine.”

He hears his footfalls on the stairs, and she flicks on the light in the front hallway, the dog protectively and dutifully at her side. And she frowns as she joins Tyler in the hallway. “Ovi? What…?”

“I almost fucking shot him. This close,” Tyler holds his thumb and forefinger less than a centimeter apart.

“What are you doing?” she addresses the teen. “It’s two thirty in the morning.”

“I lost my keys,” he explains, hands still up, as if surrendering to the police. “I couldn’t get in. So I used the spare key under the mat and thought I’d come in this way to get downstairs.”

“Do you wanna get fucking shot?” Tyler snaps. “Because that is how you get fucking shot.”

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to scare anyone. I just locked myself out. That’s all.”

“What were doing out this late anyway?” Esme asks. He’s nineteen and with that age comes extra responsibility on his behalf. He didn’t have a set curfew. But he was expected to act maturely.

Tyler’s eyes narrow “You went to see that girl didn’t you.” It’s more a statement than a question.

“I went to her place. In Butte. I was going to stay the night, but her parents would be there in the morning…”

“Jesus Christ,” Tyler mutters and looks at Esme. “Now she lives with her goddamn parents.”

“Not really with them,” Ovi says. “Just in their house. In an apartment. Like mine.”

“You do realize what could have happened, right?” she inquires. “Of all the houses to sneak into, you should know that this is the worst possible one to pick.”

“I can do more damage with my bare hands than I can with a gun,” Tyler says. “Trust me.”

“I should have called. Or sent a text. To let you know that I lost my key. I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to scare anyone.”

“And I’m sorry I almost shot you,” Tyler says. “You almost didn’t live to see your twentieth birthday, mate.”

“I’m going back to bed,” his wife announces, rubbing his back. “You two figure this shit out because it is way too late to deal with this. Or way too early. I don’t even know anymore.”

“I’ll be up in a bit,” he presses a kiss to her cheek. “After I beat the ever-loving shit out of him.”

Ovi’s eyes widen.

“Whatever,” she yawns. “Do what you have to do. Just don’t wake the kids.”

He watches as she goes, waiting until he hears her climbing the stairs before turning back to Ovi.

“I know you’re mad…” the kid begins, hands out in a plea for calm.

“Mad? No. I’m not mad. Not even close. What I am is about three seconds away from beating you within an inch of your life. What’s wrong with you? You’d think you’d know better. Of all the houses you want to sneak into, you pick this one? What ever told you that was a good idea?”

“I didn’t think I’d wake anyone up. I didn’t mean to be so loud. But I stubbed my toe and tripped over the rug and…”

“I can be fast asleep and hear a mouse sneezing the next county over. Jesus, mate. I hope this girl is worth it. She must be really something if you’re willing to risk a bullet to the head.”

“We just stayed up talking. We didn’t…”

“I don’t care about that. I don’t care what you do when you’re with her. Fuck her, don’t fuck her, it makes no difference to me, mate. Just don’t be coming home telling me I’m going to be a grandfather or some shit like that, okay? Or don’t catch the clap. I’m not sure which is worse. At least the clap goes away. Knocking someone up lasts you a good 18 years of bullshit.”

“She really is amazing. I can’t wait for you all to meet her.”

“Yeah? Well let’s let Nik do her thing and we’ll find out just who this girl is. You’ve got be more careful. Meeting some random girl on the internet, going to her place, sneaking in here. My wife is under this roof, Ovi. My kids. I thought someone was here to hurt them. And I will end anyone and everyone that even thinks about hurting them.”

“I know. And I’m sorry. I didn’t think of that.”

Tyler sighs, pushes a hand through his hair. “I’m going back upstairs and I’m going to kiss my wife and try to calm her down. Go and get some sleep. We’ll go into town tomorrow and get a new lock for your place. Who know the hell knows where you’re keys are and I’m not taking the chance of someone finding them and knowing who they belong to.”

“I’m sorry, Tyler. I’m really sorry.”

“I heard ya. Go. Go and sleep. I’ve got shit to do tomorrow.”

“Like?”

“Shit. A whole bunch of shit. And I need to get a goddamn haircut.”


	4. Chapter 4

It is a fifteen-minute drive into town; a picturesque central area with a healthy mixture of both low and high end shops and numerous eateries and cafes. In the winter it is reminiscent of a Dickens novel; snow covered trees and streets, the Victorian area store fronts boasting immaculate decorations and displays in their front windows, white lights strung from almost every available surface, and a skating rink in the center of it all. In the summer, when tourists flowed into the area and brought in the most money for the economy, the sidewalks were full of patios and lined with immaculate floral gardens. Telluride is a small town, and regular residents all seemed to know one another; conversing in front of the bank and post office, catching up on gossip and talking about high school sports. Tyler’s already exchanged pleasantries and small talk with five people, and that was when just stepping out of the car.

When they’d first arrived, talk had spread fast about the new family in town. They’d spent four months living with her parents and getting on their feet before buying able to buy a home with their joint savings and money that Mahajan had managed to scrap together and give as thanks for taking care of his son. Nik had taken it upon herself to act as the ‘small town gossip’, quickly using some of her contacts to spread small little rumours about who they were: an ex Australian Army soldier who’d been injured in Afghanistan and forced to retire at a young age, his young pregnant wife and their baby girl, and a kid that they’d adopted after losing both of his parents. It had managed to keep people from asking too many questions when they’d show up unannounced at the house with various casseroles and baked goods and welcoming gifts. Every so often someone would ask about his service record and just what happened that forced him to leave at such a young age and Tyler would just repeat the same old bullshit about arthritis and nagging injuries and show off some of the more prominent scars that marred his body. Just like five years ago in Dhaka, people had taken to them. They were young, friendly, always willing to lend a hand if someone needed it. Never too accessible, but just accessible enough. Never free and easy with their personal information, but giving out just enough that kept people curious. And when he started his own business, word travelled fast and within a week he had a client list of over two dozen. On his first day of school, Ovi already had people waiting to meet him. Interested in who the kid with the ex Army Aussie dad was.

Even five years later it is a novelty of sorts: an Australian living in their small town. They’re intrigued by his accent and his slang and always want to hear stories about ‘the land down under’. Even now he couldn’t go into the hardware store or into the pharmacy to buy diapers without someone wanting to hear all about kangaroos and koalas and was it really true they had spiders the size of dinner plates? He humoured them for the most part; slightly annoyed when they attempted to copy the way he talked. What was the saying? Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery? He’d just laugh it off and they’d think it was hilarious whenever he called them mate. 

The twins and Millie had decided to tag along; the boys wanting mohawks done at the barber and their sister wanting ice cream. The little mom and pop candy store was always one of their stops when they happened to make it into town, and she wasn’t about to let her father forget about it.

“I can take her,” Ovi offers, still trying to make up for his huge fuck up the night before. “I could use some ice cream too.”

“Oh please, daddy?! Please?!” Millie gushes, as she waits for him to unload her brothers from their car seats before tending to her. “Can Ovi take me for ice cream? Let Ovi take me for ice cream!”

“Sometimes I think you love him more than me,” he teases, as he leans across the back seat to unbuckle her, and in response she curls both arms around his neck and gives him a sloppy, noisy kiss on the forehead.

“I don’t love anyone more than you daddy.”

“Not even mommy?”

“Mommy is a close second. Don’t tell her that though. It might make her sad.”

“What about your brothers? Where are they on your list?”

“Oh they are wayyyy down there. Like between broccoli and brussell sprouts.”  
“You hate broccoli and brussell sprouts.”

Her eyes narrow. “Exactly.”

He can’t help but laugh at the seriousness in her voice, at the frown that takes over her face, the way her normally brilliant blue eyes grow dark. So much like him in so many ways. He sees it all the time; in all of his kids. Certain facial expressions and mannerisms that he long ago recognized in himself. 

“Okay, I know they piss you off, but they’re still your brothers,” he reminds her, as she clambers out of the SUV. 

“Maybe they’re adopted,” she sounds hopeful at the idea, and then rolls her eyes at them when they start harassing her about her dress and her pig tails. 

“I hate to break it to you, but they’re not. They definitely came out of mommy’s tummy. I was there. I saw it happen.”

“But how’d they get in there? Maybe other babies got put in her tummy by accident.”

“Naw, I was there for that too. So sorry. You’re stuck with the brothers you have.”

She’s side eyeing them now, with absolute disdain despite the fact they’re actually behaving and just waiting patiently for their dad to lock the car and set the alarm. He recognizes that look, too. He’s used it many times himself when someone’s mere presence has annoyed the shit out him. 

“They’re just so…ughhh…” she huffs dramatically.

That’s definitely more her mother coming out.

“But at least I have you, right Ovi?” she curls a hand around two of his fingers and gazes up at him adoringly. “At least you won’t pick on me and pull my hair and do stupid boy stuff. You’re like an older brother, right? That’s what mommy always says. That you’re practically my big brother. Is that true?”

The kid looks as if he may burst into tears at the mere thought of it. “If that’s what you want. Do you want me to be your big brother? I’ve always wanted a little sister.” He’s always seen her that way. She’d been his first hands on experience with babies and he’d relished every moment. Never once complaining when he was asked to change a dirty diaper or she threw up on his clothes. He was a natural, calm, patient, compassionate. A surprise, considering he’d never been brought up experiencing any of those traits.

“I can be your little sister,” she offers, and picks his arm up and slings it around her shoulders. 

It takes him a moment to compose himself. And he blinks his eyes several times and clears his throat and then smiles down at her.

“I’d like that.”

****  
When he was a kid, this place would have been paradise. An entire wall devoted to clear plastic cylinders filled with a rainbow of various candy, display cases showing of chocolates in all kinds of shapes and even cartoon characters and over two dozen different flavours of fudge. There’s even an old fashion milkshake and ice cream bar on the far wall, serving everything from basic cones to sundaes with dozens of available toppings, and enormous banana splits.

Oh, to be a child again! He longed for those days. Not his childhood and his previous life in India; spent as a prisoner in his own home because of his father’s evil misdoings. But a childhood that would be much simpler. Worry free. Where he could actually be a kid and enjoy all the innocence that came with it. If he could choose, he would pick this moment, this place, this family, to experience as a child. In a home where he felt safe. Valued. Respected. Loved. Where his opinions and his feelings are validated, and he can speak without being spoken to. Where there is more laughter than there were tears. More smiles than harsh raised voices.

And love. Lots and lots of love.

That is what he witnessed in his new home, with his new family. He’d been made to feel as if he was loved just as much as the biological children. He was valued. Seen as a person and not a thing. Tyler and Esme never said those three little yet powerful words, but he felt them. In the way they expressed pride in his school accomplishments, in the way they helped him battled his issues since the incident in Dhaka five years ago, how they encouraged him to always try his best and learn from his mistakes. Even when he was younger and being disciplined, there was love in it. They only wanted what was best for him and hated to see him wandering down difficult paths.

No. They never said it. Neither did he. But it was all around him. And inside of him.

Half a dozen customers linger in the store; a small family picking out candy, a couple sitting on the stools at the counter, and a solo man sitting in one booth at the very back. A trucker style hat pulled low over his eyes, sleeves of brightly coloured tattoos visible under his t-shirt, a mug of black coffee and that day’s newspaper in front of him. He glances up as they enter; his eyes locking on Ovi’s for a split second, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Ovi finds it a tad unsettling. He’s spent a lot of time wandering the town and in and out of the various shops and he’s never seen that face before. And in Telluride, newcomers stick out like sore thumbs.

Millie tightly holds his hand and happily skips alongside of him, pausing every couple of feet to spin in a circle; commenting on the way her dress looked when she twirled. Because that’s how the princesses’ dresses moved in all the movies she’s seen, and she would very much like to be a princess when she’s old.

And a firefighter.

“That’s quite the combination,” he remarks. “A princess and a firefighter? Are you going to wear your tiara and your princess dress when you go to fires?”

“Maybe the dress, but not the tiara,” she says. “Because I wouldn’t be able to get my helmet on.”

Pretty sound logic.

He notices the way people watch them, mostly out of curiosity. That sweet little girl in her blue and white gingham dress and her light up Frozen sandals. With her unruly hair and her huge blue eyes, her hand tightly clutching his. They probably think he’s a babysitter. Or a family friend. But truth be told, he is closer to her than he’s ever been to any of his blood family.

“Let’s see what we want,” he says, and scoops her up into his arms, settling her on his hip in the same fashion he’s seen Tyler use so many times. And she curls an arm around his neck and pushes her unruly hair out of her eyes and leans forward as far she can go in order to get a closer look at the tubs of ice cream laid out in the freezer before them. He doesn’t know why he bothers. She orders the same thing every time they’re there.

“Aren’t you a lucky little girl,” the cashier says, as she rings up their order. “Having a friend take you out for ice cream.”

“Oh, he’s not my friend,” Millie informs her. “He’s my brother.”

The woman arches an eyebrow.

“What she means is…” Ovi attempts an explanation of his own, but Millie jumps right in.

“Just ‘cause we look different doesn’t mean he’s not my brother. ‘Cause he is. My mommy and daddy adopted him when his mommy and daddy died. He didn’t have anywhere else to live so mommy and daddy let him live with us. I also have three other brothers.”

“Are they adopted to or…”

“Nope. They’re my real brothers. They have the same mommy and daddy as I do. Two little brothers were enough and when mommy was having another baby, I really wanted a little sister. Or a puppy. Puppies don’t cry all the time and wake me up in the middle of the night and steal my toys. But nope, another brother,” she’s clearly disgusted by that fact. “How come so many boys? Daddy says that some people just have lots of boys and others have lots of girls and some just have a little of both. But mommy says daddy is a boy making machine. Whatever that means.”

“I am so sorry,” Ovi apologizes. “She likes to talk.”

“My brothers that came right after me are twins,” she continues, taking the cashier’s wide-eyed interest and awe at her precociousness as her cue to keep going. “Tanner. And Tyler. Tyler’s my daddy’s name too. My baby brother is Declan. He’s the cutest one. The other two are just way too annoying. And Declan doesn’t pick on me and pull my hair. And I’ll make sure he doesn’t…” she makes a fist, as if to signify she’s going to punch him in the face if he doesn’t tow the line. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Ovi notices the tattooed man in the trucker hat slipping out of his booth; mug of coffee and newspaper in his hands as he moved closer to them. Dropping into one of the stools closest to the entrance. He shifts nervously from foot to foot; keeping one arm tight around Millie as he pocked his change and then carries her and their treats to the nearest table. He makes sure that he’s facing the door. Tyler has always told him that is was the smart thing to do; you didn’t want to be surprised by trouble sneaking up on you.

He hates that he’s still so paranoid. That the nightmare he’d gone through in Dhaka still bothers him to this day. It’s his cross to bear; painful and heavy. And some days he just wishes he could ease the burden on his tired shoulders.

Instead of taking the seat across from him, Millie slips in right beside him, kneeling on the vinyl bench in order to reach her ice cream. She happily digs in; spooning the bubble gum flavoured concoction into her mouth as she rattles on about gymnastics and martial arts and how she really wishes that daddy didn’t hate hockey so much, because she’d really like to learn how to play it. And how to hit people really hard and fight them. And as he listens intently and offers up nods and appropriate responses, he casually keeps an eye on the stranger seated at the counter. Ovi knows he’s watching them. He can feel it every time he looks away to pay attention to Millie.

“Ovi?” she suddenly asks, as she licks ice cream off her fingers.

“Yeah?”

“What does daddy do? What’s his job?”

“He fixes up houses and makes them nice again. And helps people do things they’re not able to do in their own homes. You know that.”

“I don’t mean that job. I mean his other job. The one that Auntie Nik always calls him on the phone about.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I…”

“He always leaves in the middle of the night and then he’s gone in the morning and I’m mad that he didn’t even say goodbye,” she continues. “And then he’s gone a long time and mommy is really sad and cries about it. She tries to say that she doesn’t cry, but I hear her when she thinks I’m asleep. I know she’s worried about daddy. Is he doing bad things?”

“No,” he assures her. “He’s not.”

“I don’t like that he’s gone all the time. It makes me sad. And then I can’t sleep because I’m sad and daddy isn’t there to tuck me in and read me a story. Where is he? Where does he go? Mommy says he’s far away, but he still calls us every night. It makes me feel better when he calls. ‘Cause I can hear his voice.”

“He’s a lot of different places,” Ovi explains. “He travels a lot.”

“But what does he do? What kind of job is it?”

“He helps people. People that are in trouble.”

“Are bad guys after the people?”

He nods. “The bad guys are after them and your dad goes and helps them get away. He rescues good people from bad people.”

Her eyes widen and her voice is above a whisper, speaking in astonished awe. “You mean like a superhero?!”

He grins. “Just like a superhero.”

“Like the Avengers?!”

“Just like them. Just like Thor.”

“Oh, he’s my favourite!” she gushes. “Mommy’s too because she says he’s a total snack.”

“I wouldn’t tell your dad that. About mom thinking Thor’s a snack. Or about how you know he’s a superhero. He doesn’t see himself that way and he doesn’t like to talk about it. You know how some superhero’s keep it a secret and no one knows who they are? That’s how it is with your dad. So we’ll just keep it between us, okay? You don’t want to embarrass him, right?”

“I’m not brave, mate.”

“Of course you are. You rescue people.”

“Yeah, sometimes. Sometimes I do other things.”

“You mean like killing people?”

Ovi can hear that conversation as if it were just yesterday. At Gaspar’s house, when he’d asked Tyler if he’d always been brave. How could you not be? When you willingly put your own life on the line to save the lives of others? Even if there was money involved, it still took a lot of courage to go into a situation where you didn’t know if you’d survive or not. Tyler and his father were nothing alike. His father had killed people with horrible intentions. Tyler kills because he has to. To save others and himself. He would never tell the little girl beside him that. Those details are difficult to digest and painful to hear about, and she doesn’t need to know them until she is older.

And maybe not even then.

“Ovi?” she asks once again, and he uses the tip of his thumb to clear ice cream from the corners of his mouth.

“Yeah?”  
“That man is giving me the creeps.”

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, tries to play it cool. “What man?”

“That one,” her eyes narrow once more as she glares at the stranger in question. “He keeps looking at us. Why does he keep looking at us?”

“Maybe he just thinks you’re cute. Or he’s jealous because you have ice cream and he doesn’t.”

“We could always ask him,” she suggests. “About why he’s staring at us.”

“Or we could just mind our own business and eat our ice cream. We don’t want it to melt, do we?” he wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her a little closer and a little tighter to his side. 

***

The chime above the door sounds as it swings open and Ovi watches as Tyler and the boys enter; the twins being maneuvered over the threshold with a large, strong hand gripping the back of their shirts, effectively steering them in the right direction. Both have mohawks now; one with frosted green tips, the other blue, and Ovi grins at the sight of Tyler’s own new look. Or was it in an old look? Newish oldish perhaps? The same cut he’d sported when they first five years ago. He remembers how he’d been intrigued by it; no one at school would dare have their hair cut like that and there was no way his own father or any of those paid to watch him would have ever allowed him to get it done.  
He also notices it’s a bad knee day. That limp a little more prominent than usual.

“Over here boys,” he says to his sons, and with a gentle push with his thighs sends them the right way.

Ovi clears his throat noisily, making it a point to catch Tyler’s attention. And when their eyes lock, he makes a small nod in the direction of the man sitting at the counter. Pretending to be immersed in his paper as the cashier refills his coffee mug. Through the lenses of his sunglasses, Tyler’s able to check him out without even being noticed, and Ovi sees the way his head barely moves as he gives the stranger a once over; his brow slightly furrowed, lips set in a thin line.

“Hi daddy!” Millie cheerfully greets as he approaches the table, and Ovi notices how the stranger finally looks up; no expression on his face as he eyes Tyler from head to toe. “What’s up with your hair?”

“Most of it’s gone. Why? You don’t like it?”

She frowns. “It’s kinda weird.”

“Blame your mother. She likes it like this. Get in,” he instructs his sons, and helps each of them by grabbing the back of their shorts and lifting them onto the bench. 

“Nice hair cuts boys,” Ovi enthuses, and he gets high fives from each of them. “Very cool. What’s up with the colour though?”

“My wife’s going to kill me,” Tyler laments, and then heads off to purchase ice cream for the twins. Ovi notices yet again that the man at the counter watches him intently; brows arching as he takes in the tall, powerful frame.

Impressed, maybe? A little intimidated? Even now Ovi himself found it hard not to be. When you’re that tall and you’re back and shoulders are that broad and your muscles are that big, you tend to draw attention to yourself. Mostly it was from women. Ovi noticed that a lot. The females like Tyler’s big muscles and his blue eyes.

Tyler slides into the seat across from him, removing his sunglasses, placing them on the tabletop and then getting the twins settled with their ice cream. He’s a good dad. Ovi has always thought so. He’s a gentler version of himself when he’s in ‘dad mode’; his features softening, his voice not as gruff. Calm and patient. 

“What’s up with that guy?” he asks, jerking his head in the direction of the counter.

“He’s been staring at us,” Millie answers for Ovi, as she ducks under the table, crawls to the other side and then resurfaces and climbs onto her dad’s lap. “It’s creepy.”

“Maybe he just thinks you’re cute,” her father reasons. “Or he wants your ice cream.”

“That’s what Ovi said. Hey!” she flashes a dramatic pout when he helps himself to some of her treat. 

“He’s just been sitting there,” Ovi says. “He was here before we got here.”

“What’s he be doing?”

“Sitting. Reading the paper. Drinking coffee.”

“And watching us,” Millie pipes up. “Super creepy. I don’t like creepers.”

Tyler chuckles at the use of the word ‘creepers’, and running a palm over her hair, drops a kiss on the top of her head. “You definitely are your mother’s daughter.”

“You ever seen him before?” Ovi asks. Tyler’s in town more than he is; always at the hardware store picking things up for his side business. 

“Don’t think so. I think I’d remember a face like that. Definitely doesn’t fit in around here.” But then again, neither did he really. With the accent and the tattoos and the scars. And now the haircut. 

“People are weird,” Tanner chimes in. He’s the observant one out of the two boys; the kind that sits back and quietly takes in a situation or an environment, brain coming up with different scenarios and outcomes. Wise and intelligent beyond his years. 

“You’re one to talk with that haircut,” his father teases, and nudges him playfully with his elbow. “You realize your mother is going to seriously hurt me, yeah? She’s not going to be happy at all. Think it’s worth it? Think it’s worth me having to sleep on the couch for the rest of my life?”

His son nods enthusiastically.

“That’s it. Throw me under the bus. Now I remember why your brother is my favourite,” he’s teasing of course, and reaches across the bench to gently and playfully pinch his name sake just below the ribs.

Ovi notices just how much they all actually do like alike. The same facial features: blue eyes framed by impossibly long and dark lashes, almost the exact same colour and texture of hair, the same noses and ears. Even the same smiles and mannerisms. The way they all smirk and cock their heads to the side when they’re sensing someone else’s bullshit. 

There are definitely some extremely strong genes on Tyler’s side of the family.

“He’s coming this way,” Ovi whispers, as the stranger slides off his stool, and folds his newspaper and puts it under his arm before carrying his empty cup to the cash register.   
He’s average height and has a stocky build. Nothing remarkable about him at all save for the arms full of tattoos. 

Tyler casually watches him; legs stretched out under the table, an arm across the back of the booth. If he senses something is up, Ovi can’t tell for sure. There’s no darkness to his eyes or furrows across his brow.

The other man turns towards them now, briefly pausing at the side of their table as he looks down at Tyler, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. 

“Can I help you, mate?” Tyler asks. Calm. Cool. Collected. It was a trait that Ovi admired; the ability to stare someone down yet remain completely relaxed and expressionless.

“Just admiring your family. I’ve got a few kids of my own back home. Just made me miss them seeing you all together.”

“Where’s back home?”

“Chicago.”

“You’re a long way from home.”

“I could say the same about you. Accent and all.”

Tyler nods slowly. “Here for business or…?”

Ovi enjoys watching the process. The way the questions come so easily and never seem prodding or invasive. Tyler’s expression and tone never wavering.

“You could say that. What brought you here?”

“The wife’s from Colorado. Decided to move here when we started having kids.”

“Definitely a nice place to be. Well you all take care. Enjoy your family. Kids are a special gift. Don’t take it for granted.”

Tyler nods, then casts a casual glance over his shoulder, watching as the man heads through the shop and out the front door.

“Anything?” Ovi asks expectantly. “Feels weird, right?”

“Felt like it’s just a guy away from home and missing his family. I’ve been there. I know what it’s like. He probably just wanted someone to talk to.”

“But the way he was watching us. The way he was watching Millie…”

“Maybe he has a little girl of his own and she reminds him of her.”

“So you felt nothing? You didn’t feel like there’s something weird? Something’s going on?”

Tyler smirks. “Not every strange person is out to get us, mate. Sometimes people are just weird. Or lonely. Sometimes they just want someone to talk to and don’t know how to go about it. Remember how you felt when you first moved here? How different it was and you didn’t have any friends? It’s like that. But a hundred times worse. A guy’s thousands of miles from home, missing his wife, missing his kids, maybe having a shit day. So he wants to reach out to someone.”

“So you really felt nothing? Nothing at all?”

“Just a normal guy missing his family, kid. That’s all. Thought you were getting a handle on this. The paranoia. It’s been five years. If someone from back home was after you, they’d have found you by now.”

“You don’t worry? About people from your past coming to find you?”

“If I spent my entire time worrying about stuff like that, I’d never leave the house. And let’s not get too into it, yeah?” he nods down at Millie and then over at the twins. “Little ears and all.”

He likes to keep things on the downlow as far as the kids are concerned. They’re young and vulnerable. Impressionable. And telling them that their dad helps people is one thing, but telling them that he sometimes has to hurt and even kill people to do it, is a different beast all on its own. 

“Does chocolate milk come from brown cows?” TJ suddenly asks, effectively breaking the mood. 

“Excuse me?” his father laughs. “What?”

“Well if the white milk comes from the black and white cows, where does the chocolate milk come from?” his son continues. “Brown cows, right?”

“That’s not how it works,” Tyler chuckles. “That’s not how any of this works. It comes from putting chocolate in white milk."

“What about the grass?” Tanner’s turn now. “How come the grass is green and the sky is blue?”

“That’s a simple one,” Tyler says. “If the sky was green like the grass, you wouldn’t know where to stop mowing.”

Ovi can’t help but laugh at that. The way it is said with the utmost seriousness and how the kids are now both in awe that their dad knew that and thinking he’s apparently the smartest man on the planet. He’s able to relax again. Calmed by the fact that he’s with his people.

His family.


	5. Chapter 5

Her folks live in a retirement community just south of Butte; a neighbourhood of red brick bungalow style townhouses with immaculately landscaped front gardens and rear yards the size of postage stamps. A far cry from the place they'd had in the suburbs, with its five bedrooms and inground pool and a kitchen large enough to host all of the family gatherings. But they'd chosen to downsize and spent four months of the year travelling throughout the United States in Canada in their motorhome.

Esme doesn't visit as often as she probably should. Or at least that's what her brothers have told her when they get going on their guilt trips. She tried using the excuse that she was just simply too busy: four kids to take care of (sometimes on her own), a husband, a home to look after. The truth of the matter was that just didn't feel comfortable there; a noticeable chill in the air the moment she would walk through the door, followed by thick nearly unbearable tension for the rest of her visit. Her relationship with her mother had starting souring in her third year of college when she decided that academics was no longer what she wanted to pursue; she needed a change, a challenge, something that would give her a sense of accomplishment and pride. Her decision to join the Corps had ruffled a lot of feathers; two of her brothers had failed boot camp and her passing at left them both embarrassed and livid. Her mother had just been plain disappointed. She'd wanted more for her oldest daughter. Much more. And the idea of her being shipped off overseas to fight wars on foreign soil, putting her live at risk for the lives of others, didn't sit well with her. This was her child. Still her baby regardless of age, and she felt personally slighted that her daughter would have the gall to be so selfish and not think of others.

Getting married had somewhat repaired things. Everyone had loved Mark; a career Marine from a long list of career Marines, handsome, charming, well spoken. And things had started out great. They'd been amazing, in fact. She'd thought she'd met the love of her life; he treated her well, loved spending time with her family, was looking forward to having kids of his own. He had known how to say all the right things and follow them up with the actions that matched. Fooling everyone when it came to the true person he really was.

Two years in, she had suffered a miscarriage. She'd only been two months along and the doctor had said that it was very common to for first pregnancies to end in unfortunate circumstances. She'd been devastated and had coped with it by throwing herself into the Corps. Mark had been livid; finding every excuse in the book to blame her for what had happened. He'd had it in his head that it was somewhat her fault and there was no convincing him otherwise. That was what set the abuse off; he became controlling, obsessed with her every move, began limiting her interactions with friends and colleagues, even family. He sought solace in the bottle, which in turn brought out violent and abusive tendencies that he'd no doubt been harbouring his entire life.

Ten months.

Ten months she had put up with it. She'd thought she could change him. Save him. And in the end she'd lost everything. Relationships with friends, respect from colleagues, bonds with her own family.

She'd walked away. With nothing but the clothes on her back and a hundred bucks in the bank. She no longer had self respect or confidence. So no longer trusted anyone; especially men. She left the Corps and never looked back. Her mother had been devastated. Not at the sudden change of career, but because Esme apparently had been ungrateful and never could see just how lucky she was. A handsome and charming husband, a nice home, a stable future laid out right in front of her. Esme could never quite wrap her head around her mother's reasoning. How she could truly believe that anyone of that was true. It had been a show. All of it. Mark had never been any of those things her mom raved about. If he had have been, he wouldn't have so easily turned into a monster.

And so began their toxic relationship. A far cry from how close they'd been throughout her childhood and most of her teen years. She'd learn down the line that her mother was than likely a narcissist herself and she'd never even realized that.

But she'd promised her older brother she'd at least try. After all, someone had to be the bigger person. And she had four kids that deserved to know their grandparents. She just didn't want her mother's issues being deflected upon them; she dreaded the idea of bringing them there and was filled with anxiety at the mere thought of her mother showing up on Christmas or birthdays. Tyler for the most part stayed out of it; he was the strong, silent type that didn't need words to show you that his whole support and understanding was behind you. But unlike Mark who'd laugh at her mother's cheap shots –"She's just joking, Esme," he'd insist. "Stop being so fragile"-, Tyler wasn't the type to just sit back and put iup with it. He was protective (to a fault at times) and refused to let anyone talk to his wife…the mother of his children…that way. Which in turn led to an already tense situation being so much worse.

Her mother didn't like him. She didn't deny and didn't attempt to hide it. She blamed him for the disintegration of her relationship with her daughter, despite the fact it had imploded years before he ever came along. She was bitter that her daughter 'abandoned the family' and decided to just move half way around the world to be with some stranger she'd met on a business trip. How dare she do something for herself for once? How dare she meet the love of her life; a man that actually worshipped her and respected her and didn't lay hands on her? How unbelievably selfish of her not to just leave that same man on his death bed to come back to Colorado and kiss her mother's ass. Did she not think of others when deciding to get married out of the blue and start a family?

It gives her anxiety even now, as she sits in her parents' driveway, the engine on her SUV idling, the baby babbling and giggling in his car seat in the back. She knew she shouldn't let things bother her this badly. That she should just take whatever her mother says and does at face value and just put a smile on her face and then leave knowing that it simply didn't fucking matter what her mother thought about her life or the choices she'd made.

But it is easier said than done.

Her cell vibrates from where it rests in the side pocket of the baby bag on the passenger seat and she checks it before going inside. A text message from Tyler. Reminding her to just breathe and don't let her mother get to her. That her mother's shitty behaviour is all on her and has absolutely no bearing on her abilities as a wife and his mother.

Her being a bitch is just that. Her being a bitch. If you have to, tell her to go fuck herself. I'll see you when you get home. Love you.

She smiles, sends back a simple 'I love you' in response and then drops her cell phone back into the diaper bag and kills the ignition.

******

Her mother is waiting in the doorway as she climbs the porch stairs, and she gives her daughter an awkward one armed hug and kiss on the cheek before taking Esme's face in her hands.

"Look at you…" her eyes are glazed and her face is flushed; a definite aftermath of the Bailey's she'd put her in four morning coffees. "…you look beautiful. I love your hair. But…" she holds her daughter out at arm's length and Esme waits for what comes next. Nothing good ever comes after the word 'but'. "…still haven't lost all the baby weight. Have you been eating right? Exercising?"

"I don't know," she lifts Declan higher onto her hip, chubby hands grabbing at her earrings and her hair. The latter he keeps trying to shove into his mouth. "Does sex count as exercise? I think I heard it's an excellent form of cardio. Because if it does, I get a lot of exercise."

Her mother frowns. But instead of a witty or cutting comeback, turns her attention to the baby. She may be a shitty mother, but she excels at being a grandma. Or at least puts on a good show for everyone; wasting no time showing off recent pictures to friends and strangers in the store, spoiling them on Christmas and birthdays, showering them with affection.

"Grandma's baby boy," she croons, as she holds out her hands and he willingly reaches for her. "Well there's one thing that he knows how to do well," she says to her daughter. "He knows how to help make gorgeous babies."

He. Just the sound of it makes Esme cringe.

She slips out of her sneakers as she follows her mother into the house, eyeing all the recent additions and transformations. New furniture, a fresh and different colour of paint, new flooring. "You've been keeping Sarge busy," she remarks, as they head into the kitchen.

"Well you know what they say. Idle hands are the devil's play thing. Sit…sit…I just made a fresh pot of tea and there's some of my famous shortbread cookies. Unless you'd rather eat healthier. I do have some fresh fruit."

Out of sheer spite she helps herself to two cookies and bites into both.

Her mother simply stares at her, then offers a long, exasperated sigh and slips into one of the chairs at the kitchen table. "I take it he's finally home."

"He is," Esme takes a seat across from her, tucking the baby bag under the table. "And he has a name, mom. It's not that hard to remember. Considering one of your grandsons is named after him."

"How long was he…" she pauses and gives her daughter a phony, sugary sweet smile. "…how long was Tyler gone for?"

"Two weeks. It was only supposed to be four days but…" she shrugs, taking the pot of tea and pouring some of the beverage into two china cups her mom has set out. "…there were issues and he couldn't get back until two nights ago."

"Just what kind of issues? One with two legs and breasts and…"

"Oh my God, mom. Really? No. Just because your own husband can't keep it in his pants during boys week in Las Vegas doesn't mean all men are like that. Tyler does not cheat. Trust me. I would know. And he doesn't have any reason to. He is perfectly happy with what he has at home. My husband is satisfied and then some. So can you please not bring that kind of shit up? Jesus."

"I guess I could give him and you the benefit of the doubt," she says. "I mean, you obviously know how to keep him happy in the bedroom. You wouldn't have four kids if you didn't. Don't they make birth control in Australia?"

"Jesus…" Esme sighs, and rakes a hand through her hair.

"Oh come on…" her mother laughs and slaps her on the knee. "I'm just joking and you know it. You never have been able to take a joke. Stop being so sensitive."

"Well maybe stop being such a bitch and I would be," Esme counters, and her mother just rolls her eyes and mutters something about her having a smart mouth and always being an 'ungrateful girl'.

"So where was he this time?" her mom asks.

"Mexico first. And then Guatemala."

"Doing what exactly? Who travels that much for work?"

"A lot of people. And I already told you. He's a contractor." It isn't entirely a lie. "People contact his boss for help solving problems and his boss sends him to where he's needed."

"What kind of problems?"

"Mom, we've talked about this. He's in security. Through a private firm. He goes where he's needed and he helps people with their issues and he comes home. Sometimes things go wrong and he's there longer than he thought he would be. It happens."

There's a frown on her face as she bounces her grandson on her knee. "That's no way to live. For you or those children. Can't he find something that keeps him closer to home? What if something happens at the house? To you or one of the kids? What will happen if he's too far away to get back in a quick fashion? That's very selfish on his part if you ask me."

"Well no one asked you, mom. It's really none of your business. It's his job and he's good at it. Damn good. And he's already said this is his last year at it. So just…" she sighs. "…just try staying out of it, okay? What Tyler and I do is none of your business."

"It's my business when my grandchildren are involved. Those aren't just his children, you know."

"Yes, I know. I was there when they were conceived, remember? Now can you please just get off his ass? Enough. I know you're pissed at him because you think he stole me away from you and forced me to stay in Australia and trapped me into having kids and getting married. He's a good man, mom. And he's a great husband and an amazing father and if you'd get off his ass once in a while, you might see all that for yourself."

"I have tried giving him a chance, Esme. You know this. But he isn't exactly an easy person to get close to and…"

"Don't turn this around and make him out to be the evil one. He's been the one trying to give you a chance."

"So why isn't he here then? He can't spend a half an hour visiting his mother in law?"

"He's spending quality time with the boys and Millie."

"I really wish you wouldn't call her that," her mother huffs. "It sounds so…redneck. Call her by her name. Amelia. It's beautiful and it's classic and…"

"She wants to be called Millie. That's what she's asked us to call her."

"She's five. She isn't old enough to decide things like this."

"Mom…" Esme sighs. "…it's what she wants. She likes it. It sounds cute."

"Cute? It sounds like she belongs in the outback."

Esme smirks at that cheap shot. "I don't know about that. If she belonged in the outback, we would have named her bathroom chicken."

Her brow furrows. "What?"

"There used to be a chicken that lived in Tyler's bathroom. It's a long story. I called it bathroom chicken because the first time I saw it, it was sitting on the ledge of the tub. As far as I know, she's still alive and kicking and hasn't been turned into dinner yet."

Esme makes a mental note to message Koen to see if, in fact, bathroom chicken was still shitting all over the place.

"I still don't understand how the two of you actually met. It's been five years and I still don't know."

"I told you. I was on a business trip."

"And you just randomly bumped into him…"

"A colleague introduced us. She'd known him for years and she hooked us up. It's not that difficult to understand."

"And you were just so desperate to find someone and feel loved that you just latched right on and never came home again."

"That's not…" she takes a deep breath, trying to control her emotions. "…that's not how it happened. Or why it happened. Can't you just let this go? Can't you just put that in the past and concentrate on the right now? Like your beautiful grandson sitting on your lap? Can you stop hating his dad long enough to realize what a gift you have right in front of you?"

That seems to have a struck a chord. And for the first time in as long as she can remember, her mother is rendered speechless.

At least temporarily.

"I spoke to Mark yesterday," her mom announces several minutes later, as she sips from her own mug of tea.

Esme shifts uncomfortable in her chair, adjusts the receiving blanket draped over her shoulder and the baby's face as he feeds. "And why did you do that?"

"He stopped by. To see how we were. At least someone makes an effort."

"Well he always did like to put on a good show for everyone. Nice to see some things never change."

"Can you believe he still hasn't met someone? That a catch like him still hasn't remarried?"

Probably because all the women around him these days are much better judges of character than I was, Esme thinks. "Well," she shrugs. "Not everyone is cut out to be married, I guess. Maybe he finally realizes that. And how does he even know where you live? The last time you saw him, you were still at the old place."

"Oh we've been keeping in touch," her mother says it so casually, as if it's totally normal to keep in contact with your daughter's former abuser. "He checks in on us a lot. Always sends Christmas and birthday cards."

"Well how very charming and gentlemanly of him," she can't stop the snarkiness that drips from her voice and she lifts the baby to her shoulder to burp him.

"He asked about you. He wanted to know how you were doing."

"I hope you told him to mind her own business and not to ask about me ever again."

"I told him you were back living in Colorado. That you were still with your husband and had another baby."

"So he already knew about Tyler and Millie and the twins because…"

"Like I said. We've kept in touch. Why wouldn't I tell him?"

"Oh I don't know, mom. Maybe because he's a narcissistic prick with no remorse who refuses to take responsibility for his own bullshit. Or maybe, just maybe, I'd rather him not know anything about me. Or my husband. Or my kids."

"Well for what it's worth, he seemed very happy for you. He said he was glad to see you got it together and was giving someone a chance to love you instead of pushing them away."

"Of course he did," Esme smirks.

"And he said that the children are beautiful. I said I agreed that they are, but they just look way too much like their father."

"And that's a bad thing, because…"

"I'm not saying it's a bad thing. Because if there's one thing we can agree on, it's that your husband definitely is a nice tall cool glass of water. Certainly not hard to look at."

"No. He most certainly isn't. He's even better to look at when he has no clothes on."

Her mother scowls.

"And how would Mark know what the kids look like unless…" Esme's eyes narrow. "…please tell me you did not go on my facebook and show him."

"No! Of course not. I know how you want to keep that family only. I showed him some of the pictures you've sent us."

"Jesus, mom. Why? Why was it so important to show him pictures? It's none of his business what my kids look like."

"I don't understand why you're so upset. Like I said, they're beautiful children and…"

"He's my ex husband for a reason. And one of those reasons is that he's a total dick bag and I want nothing to do with him. So please stop telling him things and showing him pictures. I'd just rather you not do it, okay? It's weird."

"Only because you're making it weird. Honestly, Esme…" she huffs, and pushes her chair away from the table. "…everything is always so difficult with you. Why is everything such a production with you? It's why your first marriage didn't work."

"Oh believe me, mom, that marriage didn't work for a lot of reasons. You just won't accept what really happened. You have your head shoved so far up Mark's ass…."

"You weren't one hundred percent innocent, young lady. You had your issues too."

"I lost a baby and he went off the deep end. I'm so very sorry for having a miscarriage and upsetting his delicate sensibilities."

"Well as sad as that was, you certainly didn't let it hold you back. You went on to have another four. He has none."

"And I'm sure that's by his own choice. Or maybe women are smarter there days and they see through his shit. I can't believe we are even talking about this. About him. That's my past. I'm married. I have a husband. Kids. And none of that has anything to do with him and you shouldn't be trying to involve him in it."

"Well let's just hope you get rid of this animosity before he winds up on your doorstep."

"Before he….mom…" her eyes narrow. "…what did you do?"

"He said he wanted to reach out to you. To make amends."

"Mom…"

"I told him it shouldn't be a problem, so…"

"Mom!" she snaps. "Please tell me you didn't…"

"I gave him your cell number. And your address."

"You didn't," Esme hisses.

"I did. I thought it would be good for you. To touch base and…"

"Why would you do that? Why would you tell him where I lived? That's none of his goddamn business. Why…?"

"He just wants to talk to you. Make amends."

"He can go fuck himself."

"Esme…language…please…"

"You are just too much!" she uses her foot to pull the baby bag towards her and shoves the receiving blanket into it before standing up. "I come here to visit you...so you can see your grandson…and you have to do this! This stupid bullshit that you pull!"

"I don't care how grown you are, young lady. Or that you're a wife and a mother. You don't speak to me that way!"

"I've had enough of this mom! Enough of all your mind games and you crap. I've been trying. I've been trying so hard since we go back here. We came back here for you. It was Tyler's idea, you know. Because he thought I needed to be home. Because he thought you deserved to have Millie in your life. Because he felt some sort of misplaced guilt for making me stay in Australia. I didn't stay there because I had to. Or to spite you. I stayed there because I love him and he needed me. Yet you have the goddamn nerve to shit all over him every chance you get. And you know what really makes you mad? It makes you mad that he doesn't let you. You're so pissed that he isn't afraid to stick up for himself. Or for me."

"Well if he just minded his own business…"

"I'm his wife. I am his business. He's the father of your grandchildren. Whether you like it or not. And he's the love of my life and my best friend and my husband and you're not going to disrespect him like you do. I've had enough. Stop. Just stop."

She holds her hands up in surrender. "If I'd known how you feel at the very beginning how you feel…"

"I've made it abundantly clear that I hate how you talk about him. You don't know him, mother. You don't know what he's like or the things he's done or the way he's helped people. The way he keeps helping people. There's a lot more to him than you think. And if you knew the truth, the whole truth, I think you'd respect him a hell of a lot more. He's a hundred times the man than Mark ever was. A thousand times."

"I think you're giving him a little too much credit."

"See!" Esme huffs, and slings the bag over her shoulder. "That is exactly what I am talking about. I love you, mom. I do. But I love Tyler more. And I'm sorry if that hurts you to hear that. But he's the one that's been there for me. He's the one that sticks by my side when everything is going to shit. And it was his idea to move back here because he felt you needed me to be here. And that you needed to see the kids. If it wasn't for Tyler, we wouldn't even be here. Or would you rather that?"

"Of course not. I'm very grateful for that. To have you in my life. To have my grandchildren."

"But you just can't let it go, can you. You've got this hate on for him that you just can't get past. You need to just let it go. For me. For your grandchildren. Because he's their father and they love him to the moon and back and I won't let you talk about him like you do in front of them. Can you at least respect them enough to stop?"

She sighs. "I can try. No promises though."

"I do love you mom," she presses a kiss to her cheek. "And none of this was ever about spiting you. I'm sorry that you think it was. That you think I stayed there to upset you. But I did what I needed to for him. And for myself. One day I hope you can realize that. I've got to go. I told Jennie I'd be there for noon."

It would be the first time seeing her cousin since G had been killed in Dhaka. Five years of being avoided because the pain and the grief was too great and Jennie couldn't except that her husband had died yet Tyler had been given a second chance. Why would the man who had so much to live to for have to be the one who died, when the man who didn't want to live anymore was given the chance to go on?

Her mother walks her all the way to the car, waiting until Esme's buckled the baby in his car seat before surprising her by wrapping her arms around her. A real hug this time. Warm. Loving. Two things she hasn't felt from her mother since she joined the Corps and became the family disappointment.

"Drive safe," her mother says, and kisses her cheek. "Call me when you get home so I know you got there safe. And tell everyone that I say hi. That grandma loves them."

"I will," she promises. "I do love you, mom."

"And I love you. Now go. Before you make me all weepy. You know I hate that kind of thing. I just want you to be happy, Esme. That's all I want."

"I know. And I am. Happy. He makes me happy."

She pats her daughter on the cheek and then backs away, arms crossed over her chest as Esme climbs into the SUV. "See you soon?" there's a tone of hope in her voice.

Esme smiles. "I hope so."


	6. Chapter 6

When she arrives home at four, she finds her entire family -minus Ovi- fast asleep in the backyard hammock. Tyler with one leg hanging over the edge, Millie tucked under one arm and Tanner under the other, and TJ on top of his chest with his head tucked under his dad's chin. He is completely at peace; this man that has seen so much, done so much, survived so much. His features soft, body fully relaxed, a gentle smile playing on his lips. Utterly relaxed and content, surrounded by the little human beings that he had had a role in creating. It was a realization that he remained in awe of even now. Maybe because he didn't feel as if he deserved that kind of love; these innocent and pure beings who idolized him and loved him unconditionally. Or maybe because he had a hard time believing that someone like him could create something so beautiful. Not once, but four times. He had once told her, just after Declan was born, that his children were the greatest gifts that anyone had ever given him. And he'd sat there with his minutes old son in his arms, tears in his eyes, thanking her for him. For giving them -as a couple- a chance. For giving him a life that he could be proud of.

"You make me want to be a better man," he'd admitted, and she'd never heard a more sincere and beautiful compliment in her entire life.

And now here he was, this big, strong man covered in tattoos and scars, out like a light while cuddling the gifts that he treasured so much.

She can't resist taking a picture with her cell phone. Quickly sending a copy of it to Nik with the words: this is how a total bad ass spends his day off. Then she leaves them, carrying the baby on her hip into the house and laying him down for a nap. Mac is right by her side; watching every move she makes as if to let her know that that his little human and he's in charge of making sure everything is done right. And to make sure Declan is protected. And when she leaves, the puppy is yawning loudly and curling into a ball at the side of the crib, ready for his job as nanny.

She relishes the time in a quiet house; no screaming or fighting children, no teething baby whining and crying, no hammering and drilling and whatever noise accompanies reno work. Just the gentle hums coming from the central air and the refrigerator, the chirping of the birds gathered in the surrounding trees, the slow boil of the kettle. There is rarely a moment without chaos in their home; a puppy and four kids and a husband that can't sit still makes for very entertaining times. So she enjoys every possible second, sipping tea as she leans stomach first against the kitchen island, thumbing through flyers and a stack of bills, doodling on a pad of paper that she'd meant for a grocery list, but can't be bothered to do the actual work.

The sliding door opens and Tyler steps in, barefoot, yawning loudly and wiping sleep from his eyes.

"Well holy shit," she grins. "Sleeping beauty awakes. Look at you with your fancy new hair cut, looking sexy as fuck. And it isn't even my birthday."

"Early Christmas present. They wanted to shave my beard off, but I told them you'd file for divorce if I walked into the house clean shaven."

"Never mind divorce. I think that's grounds for justifiable homicide," she teases, as he lays a hand on her hip and leans down to kiss her in greeting. "Very nice," she gushes, and brushes the wayward strands out of his eyes.

"Your daughter says it looks weird."

"She's five. This is a kid that puts mayo and peanut butter together. Now that's weird. Seriously baby…" she runs a hand through his hair. "…you kind of make me wet."

He grins. "Doesn't take much, does it."

"You seem to have a very odd effect on my insides," she confirms.

"Odd as in bad, or…"

"Odd as in good. Very good," she fists the front of his t-shirt and pulls him down into a longer, more intense kiss. And his hands move from her hips to her ass, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulls her flush against him. "Hi, by the way," she says when they final part.

"Hi," he presses his lips to her temple and then moves towards the fridge. "So, how'd it go?"

"With my mom or with Jennie? Because both were very…interesting…to say the least."

"Start with the worst one first. What kind of mood was the Wicked Witch of the West in today?"

"While she was three coffees with baileys and about two gin and tonics into things when I got there. Not that it mellowed her out at all. She was her usual self."

"Bitchy?" he pulls a beer from the fridge and shuts the door with his hip, twisting off the cap as he joins her at the island, small of his back at the edge of the granite.

"I was going to say catty and miserable, but okay. By the way, talk around the Thanksgiving dinner table may get X rated this year. I told her that we were having a lot of sex."

He grins, the bottle of beer pressed to his lips. "Well you weren't lying, so…"

"She had the nerve to bitch at me for not losing all the baby weight. Excuse me? I've had four kids in the span of five years. Am I already supposed to be a size three? For one, I've never been that small. Ever. Second, I'm still trying to feed a ten-month-old and I'm sorry if I have to eat extra so I make extra for him. Have you seen how much your son can drink?"

"He probably doesn't even really want the milk. He's just a boob guy."

"Oh great. Add to the list of things that make him even more like you. But can you honestly believe her? Ragging me about my weight?"

"Who gives a shit. I think you look amazing. Who cares what she says?"

"She just drives me absolute bat-shit insane. She can never just compliment someone and be a decent person. She has to always get in those little cheap shots that make me want to punch her in the throat. And I know I shouldn't be saying that about my own mother, but…"

'She's your mother but she isn't a mother," he reasons. "Because no mother talks to her own child like that. Just because she's your mother, does not mean you have to take her shit. Just tell her to fuck off. I've told her. Which is probably one of the many reasons she hates me."

"She doesn't hate you. She just doesn't know you. And for some stupid ass reason, she won't be bothered to even try."

"Why stress about it? I don't. Let her see the kids. Let her be a grandma. I don't need to like her or spend time with her."

"But it would make things a little easier if you did," Esme points out. "Which isn't your fault, by the way. She totally caused all of this. And can you believe she still talks to my ex? After everything he's done? Like, what the hell? And she had the nerve to give him my phone number and our address so…"

Tyler frowns. "She did what now?"

"Something about how he wants to make amends or some bullshit like that."

"So she just up and gave him our address? So your ex husband…who is a narcissistic, abusive prick…actually knows where we live? Where our kids live?"

"He's definitely a narcissistic, abusive prick, but he's not a homicidal maniac. It's not like he's going to come here and hurt the kids."

"I don't want him coming here at all. Why would I want your ex husband coming here where you live with your current husband?"

"Current? You make it sound like there's going to be others."

"I didn't mean it like that. But why would I want him coming here? This is our life. Not his. What if my ex wife showed up out of the blue? You'd flip your shit. And I'm not saying that's wrong. Because you'd have every right to. Or any of my exes for that matter. Would you want them just showing up?"

"Well Nik just comes by whenever, so…"

"Nik is not an ex. By any stretch of the means."

"Wasn't she a booty call? Ex booty call?"

"That was a long time ago. Last time that happened was a year before you and I met. Technically she's my boss, so I have to answer when she comes over or calls me. And why are we even talking about Nik? What does Nik have to do with your ex husband being a raging asshole?"

"I honestly didn't think you'd get this worked up about it," she admits.

"I don't like people just coming around my kids. Our kids. You know that. Didn't we just have to explain this to Ovi last night?"

"This isn't someone from your past that wants revenge. This isn't someone whose toes you stepped on and now they want to get back at you. He's an idiot, but he's not a psychopath that's out to hurt children."

"Okay, so he's not a psychopath. So after everything he's done what does that make him? A sociopath?"

"Look at you," she teases. "Bringing out the big words."

He scowls.

"You're not pissed off that he knows where we live. You're not even pissed at all. You're jealous."

He gives a derisive snort. "What's there to be jealous about? I'm the one that's married to you now. It's my bed you're in every night."

"You…" she stands in front of him, plucks the bottle of beer from his hand and takes a swig. "… hate the idea of there being men in my past."

"I know there's men in your past. It's not like I was your first. You were married before me. I think that's a sign that there were guys before me."

"But you hate it. Don't you. You can't stand thinking about me being with anyone else. It just pisses you off when you think about it," she holds the beer behind her back when he reaches for it. "Admit it. You can't stand the thought of another guy touching me and kissing me the way you do."

He gives a cocky smile "No guy can kiss you and touch you the way I do."

"Okay, I'll give you that. But you're seriously upset about this, aren't you. You really don't like thinking about it."

"I really don't like thinking about it," he admits, and reaches around her to grab the beer. "There. You happy? Now you know my weakness. I hate thinking about you being with other people. It pisses me off. And now one of these people are going to just show up on my doorstep. So yeah. I'm a little upset."

"Awww…baby…" she moves closer, standing between his thighs. "…I like this side of you. The one that lets me know I'm not just the maid and the cook and the baby maker."

"You're more than that," he says. "A lot more than that."

She kisses him, long and slow and soft. Her arms around his neck and her nails scraping against the edge of his hair line where the strands are the shortest. Then lays her head against his shoulder, both of his arms loosely circling her waste, the beer bottle cold against the small of her back.

"So how'd the other thing go? With Jennie?" Tyler had met her once; when G had brought her to a team get together to announce that he was getting married. It felt like a lifetime ago. Two years before he and Esme met. Twenty-four months before everything went to shit and G lost his life in that Bangladesh forest.

"She's still having a really hard time," Esme sighs, her cheek still resting against his shoulder. "All of his things are still there. His clothes are still in the closet. Like he's just going to walk through the front door one day. It's been five years. But to her it might as well been just five days ago. It hurts my heart. Seeing her like that."

He presses a kiss to the side of her head, tightens the hold around her waist.

"I felt so stupid. Standing there not knowing what to say or do. What is there to say? I'm sorry? That just seems so…trivial. What does saying sorry even do? Nothing. All it does is show that I'm a total moron when it comes to these kinds of things."

"You're not a moron. Far from it. She was probably just happy to have someone there to talk to."

"She seemed happy at first. Relieved. But then she just got angry. At me for not staying with him in the forest. At Nik for getting him mixed up in such a huge mess. At you for surviving. I tried telling her that I understand why she's angry. I was angry for a long time. I mean, I know it's not the same. You survived. And it hurt. That she's actually mad about that. That I'm not feeling the same kind of grief that she is."

"It's not a personal thing, babe. She's just hurting. She's angry, like you said. People say shit when they're angry. And she's right. I shouldn't have survived. But I did for whatever reason. I'm still here. Somehow."

"Thank god for the miracles of modern medicine," she declares, but sniffles against him.

"Hey…hey…don't…" he tangles his fingers in her hair and gently pulls her head back, so she is looking at him. "…we agreed that this was over. That we were never going to talk about it again. As soon as we left Dhaka that second time, it was behind us. So don't do this. Don't go back down that road. Because it's dark and it's fucking hard and nothing good will come from it."

"She was just so angry. At all the wrong people. Doesn't she realize I get it? I'm not the enemy. I start worrying the second Nik calls. And then I worry more when you walk out the door. I worry every time you call to check on us that it's the last time I'll hear your voice. And I worry that I won't see you walk back in the door."

"I know," he presses a kiss to her forehead and then pulls her into him, a hand on the back of her neck. "I know you do."

"I just want this to be over. I just want this to all be behind us. I just want you home. For good. No more jobs."

"One more year," he promises. "Then I'm all yours. Then we live a normal life. Whatever normal is. Our version of normal."

"You better not die on me, Tyler Rake. You have twelve months to get through. You better not make it to eleven months and twenty-nine days and die on me."

"I'm not going anywhere. You can't get rid of me that easily. Didn't you learn that five years ago? If that didn't kill me, nothing will. You're stuck with me."

"There's worse things," she reasons, and he holds her face in his hands and places his lips against her forehead. "I'd miss you if you weren't around."

"You'd miss me leaving the toilet seat up and living the empty milk jug in the fridge?"

She nods. "I'd even miss those things. I've gotten used to you just being here. To waking up and rolling over and you're just there. To hearing your voice. I think I take those things for granted. Jennie made me realize how it's important to never just assume that someone is always going to be there. So thank you. For putting up with my shit. For sticking around when sometimes you probably just want to walk away. I know I'm not an easy person to love. Just thank you. For being you. And for loving me the way you do."

Smiling, he pushes her hair behind her ears and kisses her. Not demanding. Not hungry. Not desperate. Just the languid and soft movements of closed mouth upon closed mouth.

"Twelve months," he tells her once again. "I promise."

It sounds sincere.

And it's almost enough for her to believe him.

******

"Ovi's gone to Butte again," Esme says from the passenger seat, as they make the short drive into town.

It's rare; a night out as a family. But since he's been home, Tyler's been determined to make every moment with his wife and kids count. The conversation about Jennie still reeling from G's death had hit home. Life while still in the game was extremely unpredictable; you never knew where you going to end up from one week to the next, what dangers lurked around every corner and in dark alleyways, if you were even going to make it home when it was all over. And if that did happen, he didn't want his kids' only memory of him being that he was gone a lot and the majority of their quality time was spent on the phone or through video chats.

"Yeah…" he sighs. "I know."

"He must be pretty serious about her if he's willing to drive back and forth that much. Most guys these days wouldn't travel three blocks to see someone. It's too much effort."

He glances through the rear-view mirror, making sure that little ears aren't paying attention to the conversation. They're paying no mind. Little faces glued to the books or tablets in their hands. "I don't know about that. I know guys that will drive four hours for a blow job."

"Speaking from experience?" she grins. "Have you driven that far for one?"

"I would have had to travel all the way from Australia to Colorado if everything had gone right five years ago," he points. "I mean, not just for the blow job, obviously. As good as they are."

"Good? Just good? Don't insult me."

"I think I've already told you…more than once…that you give the best ones I've ever had. But seeing as you're in the mood to have your ego stroked, I'll tell you again. I would have travelled from Australia to Colorado for a blow job from you."

"Maybe I could have been a call girl," she playfully muses. "If my skills are that good."

"I'd be your best customer."

"Baby, you wouldn't be able to afford me," she teases, and then laughs and tries to wriggle away when he pinches her thigh. "I would give it to you for free though. Your skills aren't so bad either. I'd be willing to give you freebies for those skills. Think Ovi is getting freebies?"

"Not from you, I hope."

"There is something seriously wrong with you. That is just so wrong in so many ways. I mean from this girl he's seeing."

"She's not a girl. She's a woman. A grown ass woman."

"And…"

"And something doesn't sit right with me. What does she want with a nineteen-year-old?"

"What did you want from someone five years younger?" Esme counters.

"That's totally different. We were both in our thirties. I wasn't an adult and you a teenager still. I don't know. It just doesn't feel right. He seems too…eager."

"This coming from a guy who just admitted he would have travelled here all the way from Australia to get head."

"Totally not the same thing. He's still a kid. We were adults when we hooked up. There's a difference between two consenting adults and a kid and a woman."

"I know you see him as the same Ovi he was in Dhaka, but that's five years ago, Tyler. Nineteen is not a kid. He's an adult. And believe me, I'm having a hard time accepting it myself. Where did the last five years ago? How did he go from scared little Ovi to running to Butte to get laid Ovi?"

"Jesus," Tyler frowns. "Really?"

"If you're this bent out of shape with him being grown up and doing grown up things, wait until it's one of the kids you helped make. Especially your daughter. You're going to have a coronary the day she comes home asking to go on birth control."

"For fuck sakes," he scowls. "Not this conversation again."

"Or when she starts her period and I'm not home. What are you going to do then? You'll freak the hell out. I know you will."

"You're never leaving the house when it gets close to things like that."

"Baby, you're so cute. You have the skill set you have but you're scared of your little girl growing up and becoming a woman. That's probably the only thing you are scared of."

"There's a couple other things," he admits.

Both scenarios involve her and the kids in one way or the other. Being thousands of miles away on a job and some crazy fucker bent on revenge seeking it on them and him having no way to protect them. Or dying while away on a mission and leaving his entire family behind to go on with life without him. Both kept him up at night. Both were becoming an obsession. Even he was getting tired of the near constant travel and the toll the game was taking on his mind and his body. And that was a point he'd never thought he'd get to. Where despite the money, the job was nothing but a burden that kept away from the only true things that mattered in his life.

*****

They dine at a family friendly Italian place in downtown Telluride. Enjoying the simplicity that comes with just a meal out: the older kids happily colouring on the large sheet of paper covering the tabletop, the baby in the high chair attempting to feed himself torn up pieces of garlic bread, the nursing of alcoholic beverages and the chance for small talk.

It's a normal existence for once. Just a family out for the evening. There's no talk of the job, no mention of the drama with her mother, or of Ovi's new girl. Just those little flirtatious comments and smiles that they still indulge in from time to time. Five years sometimes feels like five days. That they're still that new couple enjoying every moment together. They hadn't really gotten that chance before. Dhaka had gone so horribly bad and they'd never gotten around to executing the plans for travel and simply getting to know each other. Then came a baby and life as a married couple. Hitting the ground running and never really having the time to catch their breath.

But even through all of that, they'd discovered pretty quickly that they weren't just good at being lovers. But each other's confidants. Best friends. They actually got along outside of the realm of marriage and parenthood. Imagine spending fifty years with someone but never really knowing them? One day waking up and realize that if you'd never been with them -romantically and sexually speaking- that you'd probably actually despise one another? So caught up in raising children that once they flew the coop you suddenly realize that you don't even recognize the person sitting across the dinner table from you? And worse, not even recognizing yourself.

They never worry about those things. They made sure of that. To keep that bond that went far beyond just being spouses and parents.

While Tyler takes the twins and the baby to the bathroom to clean them up, Esme stays that the table with her daughter, Millie perched in her lap as she plays a game on her mother's cell phone. The meal was long ago finished but Esme relaxes in that lazy yet almost euphoric feeling that comes with one too many glasses of wine. Her face feelings flushed, her body filled with warmth that spreads from head to toe, her mind cluttered with a million and one thoughts but none of them actually registering.

"Hey!" Millie suddenly pipes up, a frown on her face. "That's the creepy guy from today!"

"Creepy guy? What?"

"When Ovi and I went for ice cream," she explains, as she swivels around on her mother's lap to face her. "There was this creepy guy that kept watching us. Ovi said it was probably because I was cute and he was jealous I have ice cream and he didn't."

"Well you definitely are cute," Esme says, as she pushes her daughter's hair behind her ears and noisily kisses both cheeks, getting an adorable giggle in return. "But you're looking more and more like your daddy every day and that makes me kind of sad."

"Don't be sad, mommy. Daddy's not ugly. He's cute enough."

"Yeah…" Esme smiles, and moves those thick light brown tresses off her daughter's shoulders. "…he is. Think we should keep him?"

"I don't want him going anywhere. I don't want him being anyone else's daddy. Just mine. I don't want to share him."

"Well I don't think you have to worry about that. So who is this creepy man? Which one is he? And don't look. Just tell me what he looks like."

"Do you see the lady with the purple dress and the red hair?" her tiny fingers fidget with the necklace around her mother's neck; a simple small diamond on a thin rose gold chain. "He is right beside her. He's the one with all the pictures on his arm. Like daddy's."

"Tattoos," Esme gently corrects, and looks over her little one's shoulder. The man in question sits at the bar; one of his motorcycle boots propped on the bottom rung of his stool, eyes riveted on the menu in front of him.

'Do you see him?" Millie asks. "Do you see him mommy?"

"I see him. He's just trying to decide what he wants to eat."

"That's what he does. He pretends he's doing other things but really he's watching us. He did that this morning. With a newspaper. And now he's here."

"I think it might just be a coincidence, sweet pea. This town is only so big. You're bound to see the same person more than once."

"And when he was leaving, he talked to daddy."

"Really? What did he talk to daddy about?"

"Just that he was from Chicago and he was here on business. That he has kids at home."

"That's it?"

"That's it. But it really was creepy, mommy. It made my tummy all nervous. I don't like when my tummy gets all nervous."

"I'm sure there's nothing to be nervous about. That it's just a coincidence. Maybe he's just lonely and looking to make friends. I wouldn't worry about it," she presses a kiss to Millie's forehead. "Did you have fun with Ovi today?" she attempts to calm her with a change in conversation. "What kind of ice cream did you get? I bet it was bubble gum."

"It was," she nods enthusiastically, hands moving to the sides of her mother's face, running her palms along Esme's cheeks. "I hope Ovi never moves away."

"Where would he go?"

"Back to his real home."

"This is his real home. With us. He won't go back to where he was born because he's happy here."

"I'd miss him," she pouts. "If he left. He's fun. He watches cartoons and Netflix with me and will even wear the tiara and let me paint his nails. Daddy doesn't let me do those things."

"Well your dad is what they call an alpha male."

"What's that mean?"

"I will tell you when you're older. Much older."

"Fine," she huffs. "Is daddy really a superhero? Like Thor?"

"A superhero? What…?"

"Ovi said that daddy helps people. That he goes places and helps good people get away from bad people. Is that true?"

"Yes. That's why he goes away so much. People needs his help and he goes and helps them. And sometimes he gets hurt. But he always comes back, right?"

Millie nods. "Just like superheroes. Sometimes they get hurt too, but they always get to go home after. But what if something bad happens and daddy doesn't come home?"

Sadness tugs at her heart. And that innocent little face and those eyes filling with tears. "Daddy will always come home. You don't need to worry about that, okay? Daddy will always find a way back to us. To you. And when has daddy ever lied to you? Or broken a promise?"

"Never."

"So don't worry, okay? He isn't going anywhere. Not for a long time. I promise."

*****

She watches as he husband returns to the table with their brood of boys in tow; the way he smiles and stops to interact with those who know him; clients from his reno job, people he's assisted with things like fixing leaky taps and patching holes in roofs and cutting grass.

He is far removed from the man he was five years ago. The man who'd been broken and battered; weary and guarded. He laughs and smiles more now. He lets people in. To an extent. There are parts of his life that he keeps tightly under wraps not just for his safety, but theirs as well. But he's become quite the fixture in their little town. Charming people with that smile and accent, and of course the body.

The ladies love the body. She can't count number of times where they've been in the grocery store and there's been some thirsty housewife lusting over him in the check out line. And having the goddamn gall to give her dirty looks because she's the one with his hand near her ass and the one that gets the sweet little kisses on the cheeks.

It is both disheartening and flattering when your husband is the most wanted piece of meat in the supermarket.

"Daddy, look!" Millie whispers when he finally returns to the table. "It's that creepy guy from the ice cream place!"

"You know him?" Esme asks, as Tyler sits across from her once again and settles the baby on his lap; those big strong hands under Declan's arms as the ten-month-old stands on his father's thighs. "Who is he?"

"Just some guy that's here on business. That's all I know."

"He's creepy," Millie declares. "I don't like him. He kept staring at us. It was weird. It made my tummy hurt."

"I think it was the ice cream that made your tummy hurt."

"No, daddy. It was him. It's my tummy. I should know."

"It is kind of weird that he's here," Esme remarks. "What's the chances of being in the same place twice?"

"In this town? Like eighty percent. Don't start. I don't need two paranoid females in my life. He's just some guy here on a business trip. I'm usually the one that gets the weird feelings about people, yeah? So relax. Drink more wine."

She cocks an eyebrow. "Are you trying to get me drunk?"

"Maybe," he winks at her. "The drunk Esme is the uninhibited Esme. And she hasn't come out to play in a really long time."

"She would if you stopped getting the normal Esme pregnant all the time."

"Just one more," he says. "Just one. I swear."

"And knowing my luck, it will be two again. Or maybe three this time."

"No more babies!" Millie laments. "I don't want any more brothers! Three is way too many."

"Yeah, well one sister is too many," TJ shoots back.

"I'll kick your ass!" she threatens, and he makes a move as if to swat at her.

"And this is why we can't have nice things," Esme sighs, as she pushes her chair away from the table. "Because your children are the spawns of Satan. All good genes my ass. Come on Millie. Let's go and get cleaned up. Go. Scoot," she taps her on the bum to get her moving. "And by the way," she says to Tyler, as she leans down to peck his lips. "I don't need wine to be uninhibited. All you have to do is that thing with your tongue and that'll be that."

"There's like ten things I do with my tongue. Narrow it down."

"You'll figured it out," she says, and playfully tousles his hair before herding their daughter through the busy restaurant.

She can feel the eyes on her as she departs. The stranger at the bar watching her intently.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: SMUT. NSFW

Nik calls the moment they step through the front door; using his personal cell as opposed to the SAT, and when he announces who it is, he sees the look that immediately appears on his wife's face. The annoyance that Nik has the nerve to call so after a mission when she'd already agreed to give him a minimum of two weeks off, and the worry that he may actually consider accepting an offer.

"It's probably nothing," he assures her, placing a hand on the back of her neck and pulls her into a kiss.

He can taste the alcohol that lingers on her lips, feel the press of her body against his when she stands on her tip toes and leans into him. She's normally not a drinker; not a single sip of booze has touched her lips since she'd gotten pregnant with the twins five years ago. She used to be able to keep up with him, now she'd reverted back to a light weight. The four glasses of wine she'd consumed causing her face to flush and both her body and brain to completely relax. And he's tempted to say 'fuck it' and not even answer the call. Just rush through getting the kids to bed and take her into their bedroom and worshipping every inch of her.

"It's never nothing with Nik," she grumbles, and pulls his bottom lip between her teeth before departing, hustling the kids out of the front foyer and up the stairs.

"I've got some information," Nik says, before he even has a chance to offer a greeting, and he steps out onto the back deck, sliding the glass door shut behind him.

There's a chill in the air; a steady wind coming from over the mountains and bringing significantly colder temperatures with it. And he pulls the hood of his sweater over his head and leans against the deck, elbows on the top railing.

"About this girl that Ovi's seeing, yeah?"

"She checks out clean. Not even an outstanding parking ticket. Her employment is solid; runs her own day care and has had extensive police background checks done on her and passed every one. Her father is ex Air Force. A chief warrant officer that flew blackhawks during Desert Storm. Extensive military service on his side. Including an uncle that was a POW in Vietnam and a cousin with who was awarded a Purple Heart in Iraq. Your kind of people, Tyler."

"Let's not go that far, Nik. Not many people are my kind of people." There's a big difference between career military men and ex army turned mercenary.

"Things get a little shady on the mother's side. She's a nurse at Denver Memorial Hospital. ICU. Has been there for twenty-five years and doesn't have a single blemish in her employee file. But there are some issues with siblings. Minor drug possession arrests, drunk driving charges, a couple of drunk and disorderlies, assault with a weapon, forcible confinement. Those last two came from a domestic abuse case in 2009. One of the uncles beat up his wife and held her at knife point when he came home and found her cheating on him. He's in Atlanta now and hasn't had a run in with the authorities since."

"So nothing much to worry about," he concludes.

"Nothing that I think you should worry about. But I get it. Why you wanted me to do this. I wouldn't want to be bringing strangers into my house and around my children either. Especially considering your history of making enemies. But I don't think this is anything to get worked up about. I don't see any possible threats. I'd be telling you to keep her far away if I sensed even the smallest thing."

"I appreciate that Nik."

She gets it. The lingering uneasiness that comes with the job. With the knowledge you've pissed off a lot of people who have every reason to want pay back. And while he knows the chance is always out there that someone could show up, he hasn't really worried about it since their last stint in Dhaka. The move to Colorado bringing about a sense of peace that had been missing in his life for years. Ever since he'd made the epic mistake of leaving for Afghanistan when his son was dying.

"How are you?" she asks. "How's the ribs?"

"Sore. But I'm fine. I've had worse."

"A lot of things went wrong."

"Seems to be a recurring theme, Nik. If things didn't fuck up, I'd be worried."

"There were too many mistakes. Too many mix ups. A lot is going to change. Things will run smoother next time."

Next time. Two years…or maybe even twelve months ago…those words would have been welcome to hear; it meant unbelievably good money coming in and a chance of feeding that constant crave for danger. That urge to live on the edge for a few days and then return to his normal life. Now those words just fall flat. He feels nothing. Not even the thought of that kind of cash sparks even the smallest bit of excitement.

"No more mistakes," she vows.

He chuckles. "Don't make promises you can't keep, Nik."

She gives a soft laugh. "Are you okay, Tyler? You sound tired."

"I am."

'Trouble sleeping?"

"What else is new? Knees been bugging the shit out of me. The shoulder's fucked again. I have a lot on my mind. Personal things."

"But things are okay?" she presses for more information. "You and Esme…"

"There's no problems there. Things are great. Kids are great," he sighs heavily and turns around to face the house; watching his wife through the thin curtains in the baby's room as she stands at the side of his crib. He thinks of stranger from that day. First in the ice cream shop and then in the restaurant. And how he'd noticed the way the man had watched her intently when she had taken Millie to get cleaned up. "You have someone watching me, Nik?" he asks.

"What do you mean?"

"Do you have a detail on me? Or my family? Is there something I need to worry about?"

"I would have told you if there was. What's wrong?"

He tells her about the newcomer to town; a brief physical description followed by how he'd been watching Ovi and Millie together before Tyler had showed up with the boys. There'd been a short interaction: nothing more than a stranger talking about being on a business trip and missing his own family. He wouldn't have thought any more about it had he'd not seen that same man at the restaurant hours later, and if he'd not noticed the way the stranger's eyes had followed his wife and daughter on their walk to the bathroom.

Nik listens intently; never interrupting or asking questions. But he can hear the light tapping of laptop keys as she takes down everything he's saying. She's meticulous when it comes to gathering info. And he knew she'd go back later and analyze everything he'd said. Looking for clues. If there were any to be found.

"You said he had tattoos," she speaks only after a period of silence between them. "Can you describe any of them to me?"

"Not really. I didn't really focus on them. He had sleeves. Shoulder to wrist. Both arms. I'm not sure what they're of. He said he was from Chicago but he didn't have an accent. I don't know if that matters or not. Don't they usually have accents?"

"What about the baseball hat? Was there anything written on it?"

Sighing heavily, he briefly closes his eyes and runs a hand over his face, laying it across the bridge of his nose. Thumb and forefinger pressing into his temples. "It was camo. The standard green. Had a mesh back on it. Not one of the fits to the head type. The kind with the snaps. Orange lettering across the front. The initials CRPC."

More typing. Faster this time.

"What about a vehicle? When he left did you notice if he was driving? Walking?"

"I had my back to the door. I can ask the kid later when he gets home. I wasn't paying attention to much after we talked. I had my kids with me."

"Find me the exact address of where you were. I'll see if they have security cameras. Are they any crosswalks or streetlights in the area?"

"Not for a couple of blocks. It's pretty much just a long stretch of road. No marked crossings, lights, anything like that. "

"I'll contact the store. And the other ones around it. Did he say where he was staying?"

"No. But there's a couple of hotels and a handful of bed and breakfasts. You don't need to put that many resources into this. Nik. I'm probably just reading too much into it."

"When do you ever read too much into things? That isn't something you do, Tyler."

"Maybe becoming a dad has made me soft," he scoffs. "Or paranoid. Or both."

"It's made your instincts even sharper. I noticed that about you on this last job. Your instincts were always top notch, but they've gotten even better. If you feel something is off, it probably is. I'm coming to town in a couple of days. We need to talk. In person."

"About?"

"I have a business proposition for you."

"I'm not taking another job right now, Nik. I already told you that. I need some time off with my family. Especially with my wife. She's been the one holding everything together. Least I could do is stick around awhile. She needs me Nik. A lot more than you do."

"I'm not trying to take you away from your family, Tyler. That's the last thing I want. And this isn't about a job. It's about the job, but not about a job. I'll look into this man and get back to you. I'll see you in three days."

"Nik, I don't think..."

"Three days, Tyler," she stresses, and disconnects the call.

*****

He checks on the kids. Fixing blankets, fetching favourite stuffed animals and glasses of water, reading stories that he damn well knows have already been read but he finds it too hard to resist those little voices and pleading eyes.

"You're the best tucker inner, daddy," TJ had declared, blankets so tight around him that he couldn't even move his legs or his arms. "I wish you could do this every night."

There was no guilt trip quite like a guilt trip being laid on you by a four-year-old.

In the end, the three oldest had all ended up curled up together in the bottom bunk in the twins' room, listening to one last story before finally giving in to sleep. And he'd spent some time kneeling alongside of them watching them sleep, listening to their soft breathing, stroking their hair, pressing kisses to their forehead. So many things that he wanted to say but didn't have the courage to say them. About how feared that he would fail them. That one day maybe he wouldn't come home despite fighting like hell to get there. Or if they found out the truth about his past when they were older, and they were disgusted and ashamed of him and wanted nothing to do with him.

That thought hurt the most. At least if he was dead, he wouldn't have to live with the guilt that he'd royally fucked them up.

Next, he went to the baby's room and held him until he fell asleep. That little body tucked into his chest, breath warm and sweet on the side of his neck, a tiny hand fisting a piece of his shirt. Swaying back and forth in the rocker by the window, eyes closed as he breathed in that fresh, powdery scent that clung to the baby's sleeper.

He'd been taking those moments for granted; cuddling with his kids, playing with them, kissing them goodnight and hearing them tell him they love him. Letting the job take up way too much of his time both mentally and physically. When he'd been declared healthy enough to get back into the game, he'd thrown himself into it with far more intensity than he had planned to. Feeling as if he had something to prove to not only the people who'd tried to destroy him, but himself as well. It became an obsession. Addicted to chasing that next high; the one that came with destroying evil instead of drowning his self loathing with booze and painkillers.

He finds his wife in the tub; immersed in hot water and bubbles all the way to her chin, eyes closed, and head tilted back, a half empty bottle of beer in her hand.

"I take you out one night and you're already turning into a drunk?" Tyler teases, as he closes the door and locks it behind him. Just in case. You never know when curious little bodies might come bursting in.

"I only had…two…or three…" her eyes narrow as she attempts to count on her fingers. "…or something like that."

"Four," he helps her out, and then crouches down alongside the bathtub, grimace when his knee cracks and a pain shoots right up to his hip. "And one beer. You're usually not like this. What's gotten into you?"

"It's what I want to go into me," she retorts, and then giggles.

"You can have that without getting drunk. Although this is kind of cute. Seeing you like this. It's been a long time."

Their second night during their first stint in Dhaka she'd gotten so drunk that he'd had to carry her up the three flights of stairs to their room. And tend to her while she threw up all night long. He figured it that didn't scared him away, nothing would. "Just don't throw up on me. You know how I feel about puke." Blood he could. Brain matter. Entrails. None of that got him. But if he so as much heard someone in the act of throwing up…

"What did Nik want?" she inquires. "Phone sex?"

"Let's not start that okay?" his voice is gentle, hand dipping into the water to scoop up an abandoned washcloth. Sure, booze made her uninhibited, but it also made her extremely combative. Well, more so than usual. "That's a long time ago."

"You still fucked her though. More than once."

"That's a long time ago," he repeats, refusing to let it get under his skin. "Way before you. It doesn't matter. Just like all the guys before me don't matter."

"I don't see the guys that came before you. You still see Nik. Are you still attracted to her?"

"We're not going to fight," he runs the soapy face cloth along her leg; the fabric and his fingertips slowly drifting from the top of her foot to the inside of her thigh, then sliding around the back. Smirking when he hits that sensitive spot behind her knee and her entire leg jerks. "So if you want to fight, just stop."

"Are you?" she challenges. "Do you still think she's attractive? Do you still want to fuck her some times?"

"No," he's being truthful; all connection he and Nik had had in that way had ended a long time ago. He no longer wanted her. In the same way he didn't want any other woman. "Why would I want to? I have you. I only want you."

"I bet she still wants to fuck you. I see the way she looks at you, you know. The way she bats her eyes at you and wears those low-cut blouses and her tight pants and…"

"I think you've had enough," he plucks the bottle of beer from her hands, finishing it one gulp and then reaching over to place the empty on the counter. "And you know what…" he begins the soapy exploration of her other legs. Eyes never leaving hers, watching the way her breath hitches when he nears the knee, her body anticipating the sensation. "…it doesn't matter what she wants. Because I don't want her. I want you. I married you. Not her. There's no other woman I want in my bed."

His hand travels higher; the cloth now discarded and his palm sliding along the inside of her thigh, their gazes never wavering. And when his fingertips brush against her mound, she draws in a shaky breath; eyes darkening with lust, nipples hardening.

"Only you," he says, and when his fingers push past those swollen, slick lips and make contact with her clit, her eyes closed and her head tilts back. "You are so beautiful," his voice is low as he praises her; full of lust and need and the strain it takes to hold back. His cock painfully hard in his jeans. She's stunning; all the lines and curves of her body, the smoothness of her throat, the way the water glistens on her milky skin. And he longs to get his hands on her…his mouth on her.

She gives a small cry when he pushes a finger inside of her, the fingers on one hand biting into the ledge of the tub, as the other disappears under the water to latch onto his wrist, keeping his hand firmly in place.

He adds a second finger, swallowing noisily as she grinds against his palm. Unable to keep his eyes off of her as she begins to grind against palm. Pressing her body down against it, forcing his fingers as deep as they can possibly go. Letting her do all the work in an attempt to get herself off. It is always hot when he can sit back and watch her pleasure herself, but this was on another level all in itself. Allowing her to use him…or at least part of him…to give her what she needed. And he fights the urge to unzip his pants, reach into his boxers and jerk himself off.

"You gonna come?" his voice is raspy now, overwhelmed by the sight of her, of how much he needs her. Wants her. "Tell me when you're going to come."

He adjusts the angle of his hand, so his palm is flush against her pussy, enabling his thumb to come in direct contact with her clit. She bites down hard on her bottom lip, body jerking and sending water splashing over the edge of the tub, onto him and the floor below. And when he increases the pressure of his thumb against the painfully hard nub, she reaches for him, grabbing a hold of his shirt and yanking her towards him.

"Kiss me," she demands, and then shoves her hand into his hair and aggressively pulls him down into her. Her orgasm hitting her hard and face, his tongue and his mouth muffling the sound of her scream.

His fingers continuing to move inside of her as those inner muscles contract and twitch around them and her entire body shuddering violently. Resting his forehead against hers as he waits for her to come down from her thigh. Listening to her breathing settle and waiting for her body to full relax before removing his hand from between her legs.

"You're welcome," he grins, drying his hand off on the thigh of his jeans. "You okay?"

"Mmm…hmmm…" she manages, her eyes fluttering open, regarding him with a content smile.

He stands, grimacing at the discomfort in his knee and lower back, fetching her a towel from the back of the door and then offering her a hand. Slender fingers curling around his own as she stands on shaky legs, her hands on his shoulders as he uses the towel to try her off.

"You're too good to me," she says.

"So we're not going to fight? I was pretty sure you were trying to pick a fight."

"No. No fights. But you can fuck me like we were fighting if you want."

Smirking, he leans down to kiss her, a hand tangled in her damp hair.

"You can even do that thing with your tongue that I like," she suggests. "I mean, only if you want to."

When didn't he want to?

*****

He does that 'thing' she likes. Twice. Each orgasm powerful. Her entire body arching off the bed, hands in his hair holding his face tight against her, his palm stifling the sounds that erupt from her. Then he flips her onto her stomach, slides an arm around her waist and forces her up onto her knees. Taking her like that; one strong, powerful thrust filling her, one hand on her hip, the other on her shoulder. Fucking her as if he hated her. His movements hard and fast. Unrelenting. Punishing. Grabbing a hold of her hair and pushing her face down into the mattress. And even though it's what she wants…what she had asked for…he'll hate himself in the morning for it. When he sees the bruises that his hands have made on her hips and the pained way in which she walks. It's always surprised him: how a little thing can take so much. How she can enjoy it as much as she can. When he's aggressive and mean and uses her solely for his pleasure.

Trust. It's the trust she has in him. Knowing that he'd never intentionally hurt her. That it's all just a game and never done with cruel intent. The humiliation and the pain stopping at sex. Never crossing that line in any other aspect of their life together.

He comes before she does. The agony of having to hold back in the bathroom finally releasing. Pressing into her and holding her there, a strangled groan emerging from deep inside his throat as hot, thick semen bathes her womb. Eyes closing and his head falling forward. Legs shaking, chest heaving, feeling as if he'll never stop filling her.

And when he finally recovers, he reaches between her and the bed to find her clit, rubbing at it while trailing the tip of his tongue the entire length of her spine. Over the curves of her ass. Biting at soft flesh of her hips. Fingers working her until the fourth orgasm of the takes hold; not as powerful as the first three, but enough to have her crying out in the mattress.

Afterwards, while resting on his good shoulder, he wraps an arm around her and pulls her towards him, her ass nestled into his front. Their hands joining and resting against her stomach, thumb repeatedly brushing against the top and side of her wrist. And he presses a kiss to the back of her head and buries his face in her hair; relaxing in the warmth of her body and that familiar yet still intoxicating smell.

"So what did Nik want?" she asks, and he can't help but laugh.

"And you accuse me of having shitty pillow talk."

"I'm not the one that always announces they're hungry afterwards."

"Now that you mention it, I am kinda hungry."

She directs an elbow back into his gut and he chuckles into her hair.

"I can only imagine what she wanted," she huffs.

"Can we not talk about this right now? Can we just lie here and not talk about this? The last thing I want to talk about right after we fuck is the job."

"You didn't do it, did you?"

"Do what?"

"Take a job."

He sighs.

"You promised you wouldn't take something else for at least two weeks. You said…"

He tightens his hold on her. "I didn't take a job. That isn't why she called. Well it kind of is, but it's not all at the same time."

"You make no sense in your post orgasmic haze."

"She was just telling me about the girl that Ovi is hooking up. That all the background stuff checked out. Except for some uncle with a penchant for beating up women. There's nothing we need to worry about. She's clean. He can do whatever the fuck he wants now."

"I wonder if he's doing her."

"That's another thing I do not want to talk about or think about right after we have sex. Like you said, he's grown. He can do whatever and whoever he wants. As long as he's not doing it under my roof, I don't give a shit. He can go and get his rocks off at a cheap motel or in the backseat of a car for all I care. Just not where my kids live. Only rule. None of that shit here."

"You really are going to be the father that doesn't let his daughter date until she's thirty."

"If I had my way, she'd become a nun and never look at a guy."

"Are you going to think the same when your sons are out getting laid by whoever and wherever?"

"If they knock someone up, I'm kicking their asses. And who cares right now. We have tons of times before we have to worry about shit like that. Go to sleep. You're drunk. And rambling."

She heaves a heavy sigh, wiggles her ass back against his crotch, rubs her cheek against her pillow. "Is that all Nik wanted?" she asks after several minutes, and Tyler groans.

"Esme…please…just go to sleep…it's late…I'm tired…I'm fucking aching. Just go to sleep."

"You aren't lying are you? About taking a job?"

"Woman, you're killing me here. How are you still awake? I just fucked the shit out of you and normally you'd be passed out cold. No. I didn't take a job. She didn't offer one. She just said she'd been in town in three days and wanted to talk to me. In person."

"About what?"

"I don't know. She wouldn't tell me. Can we talk about this tomorrow?"

She releases his hand and flops over onto her side to face him.

"Are you kidding me right now?" he groans. "Esme…please…just go to sleep. We can talk about this shit tomorrow. It isn't important. I don't know what she wants. She just said she wants to talk. That's it. Now please…" he presses a kiss to her forehead. "…before I smother you in your sleep. You're a chatty drunk and I love you, but it drives me fucking mental. Just close your eyes. Sleep. Please."

"Fine," she huffs, and tucks her head under his chin. "Tyler?"

"What?" he snaps. "What now?"

"I love you. Even if you are an insufferable pain in my ass sometimes."

He smiles as he drops a kiss on the top of her head. "I love you too. Even when you are a raging bitch."

"Me? Never."

He snorts.

"You married me. You must be a glutton for punishment."

"You give amazing head and fuck like a porn star. Why wouldn't I lock that shit down?"

"So romantic," she laughs. "Don't ever let anyone tell you don't have a soft side, baby. You are all fluff."

"Close your eyes," he implores. "Go to sleep. It's late. The kids wake up early."

She sighs once more, nuzzling her face into his throat. And he holds her, a hand stroking her hair, until her breathing slows and evens out and her body relaxes completely. Finding sleep quickly in the confines and the comfort of his arms.


	8. Chapter 8

"You know, sometimes it is still weird seeing you like this," Ovi remarks, as he sits at the kitchen table with Declan standing on his lap; tiny hands tightly gripping his shoulders as surprisingly strong little legs dig into his thighs as the baby bounces up and down.

"Like what?" Tyler's at the stove, making lunch for himself, Ovi, and the twins. The girls have gone out for the day; hair cuts, manicures and pedicures, lunch. Millie was in one of her ' girly girl' moods when she woke up. Pulling on a princess dress over her pyjamas, donning that plastic tiara, ordering her brothers to refer to her as 'your highness'.

"Extra," Esme had said. "She's a little bit extra today."

After five years he'd thought he'd have the being a girl dad gig under control. He'd (somewhat) mastered the pig tails and braids and the ridiculously small elastics used to hold them together, gotten used to the splashes of pink in every room and the glitter that seemed to magically appear on rugs and couches and nearly every other available surface. But the moods. And the sass. Going from sweet and loving to she devil in the blink of an eye. Boys are easier. He can relate to them. They didn't have the up and down emotional swings and weren't nearly as mouthy. They were either running at full speed ahead or were down and out. There was none of this guessing what would set them off. Was the good-natured teasing going to make them cry or laugh hysterically? They didn't come to the breakfast table with the biggest bitch vibe because they felt as if someone spoke too harshly or looked at them the wrong way.

Testosterone was running rampant in their house, but there were days the women clearly had the upper hand and the guys just had to tow the line or there'd be hell to pay. He'd long ago learned to pick his battles. Especially with his wife. A well placed 'yes, babe' or a smile and a nod during an argument over stupid shit could avoid being banished to the couch for an indeterminate amount of time.

And that was ninety percent of their fights. Dumb shit that just escalates into something bigger; both ferociously stubborn and neither willing to admit defeat. The other ten percent was over the job. Other his growing obsession with feeling as if he had to prove something to other people. And to himself. Nearly losing his life in Dhaka and the months of recovery had taken their toll. Especially on his mental health. He saw his struggles as a sign of weakness. He hated that she'd seen him at his most vulnerable. That he'd had to surrender his control over his life and everything in it. In turn, she thought he was being ridiculous.

"That's what people do when they love each other, Tyler. They take care of one another. No matter what that entails. You don't abandon someone because they need you to help with things. Who cares if I had to help you get to the bathroom some days? I'd do it again. In a heartbeat. What's going to happen if I ever get sick? Or if when I'm old and gray you have to do things like that for me? Are you just going to say fuck you and the past forty years and just walk away?"

He had tried arguing that that was different. She was his wife. And it was his job as a husband to take care of. Not the other way around.

"Fuck your stereotypes, Tyler. Can you not just stow your damn stupid foolish pride long enough to let me love you?"

They'd never had that argument again.

"This side of you," Ovi says, as the baby grabs at his ears and nose. "The domestic one. Sometimes I just remember the other side, know what I mean?"

"That's a side no one should have to remember, mate."

It was a side he didn't even like to think about at times. While the brutality and the killings were for the most part justified, there were times he'd come home after a mission and look at himself in the mirror and the reality of what he'd done would hit him. And he'd feel sick; disgusted with the knowledge that he was capable of doing the things he could and not even think twice about it.

"It just seems weird," Ovi says. "To see you one way and then you see this way."

Tyler smirks. "What? You didn't think I knew how to cook or do laundry? I wasn't always a bachelor living in a shack. I did have a wife before the one I have now. And now I've got four little humans to help keep alive, so I best be doing my part," he loudly wraps his knuckles against the window above the sink, waving the twins inside when they glance towards the house. Having to help strip them of muddy rain boots and dirty jackets, scrubbing hands and faces in the kitchen sink before they can even think about sitting down. Arguments ensuing over who gets to sit beside Ovi; he is their older brother in their eyes, and they've been seeing him less and less now that he has a woman in his life.

"I like when it's just us," TJ announces, after everyone is settled and digging into their plates of food. "All boys!"

"I miss mommy though," Tanner admits. He definitely is a momma's boy. He wears his enormous heart on his sleeve when it comes to his mother; sticking close by her side at all times, always willing to help her out when she is doing things around the house, requesting to tag along whenever she went into town to run errands. As far as he's concerned, mommy can do no wrong and is the one who hung the moon and the stars. Even now he has tears in his eyes, not liking the realization that she isn't close by. "Maybe I can call her."

"She's out with your sister," Tyler reaches out and tousles his son's hair. "Girls day. Give Millie a chance to spend some alone time with her, okay?"

He totally understands where the kid is coming from. There's not a second that goes by when he's on the job that he isn't missing home and wishing he could be there. Where he's missing the way she smiles at him, or the way she runs her hands through his hair, or even just the sound of her voice. Or how when he'd lie awake beside her and watch her as she slept; listening to her breathe and thinking about how much he'd miss her if suddenly she wasn't there anymore.

Those were the thoughts he hated the most. That what if's. What if something happened and he was left alone with four children to raise? What if she got tired of him always being away and being addicted to the job and she took off with the kids? What if she woke up one day and realized all along what a mistake it was to get mixed up with him in Dhaka? He never brought those things up to her. Most of his demons she was aware of and helped him battle. Others he kept to himself.

"Why do you care so much?" he can hear Gaspar's voice plain as day. "Why are you holding on so tight to some girl you just met? Save yourself, Tyler. Get rid of the kid, take your part of the ten million, and just ditch the girl in the street. Save yourself a lot of heartache."

He'd thought of attempting to explain it to him. How that 'girl' had come into his life when he'd least expected it and had shown him what it was like to feel alive again. That she'd managed to begin the dismantling of the walls he'd built up around himself and was reminding him what it felt like to be wanted. That she didn't give a fuck about his past and vice versa and he was feeling confident that things would lead to something more.

There was no way he was just leaving her in the goddamn street.

Instead he'd just told his old friend that it was none of his business. He didn't need to know what was going on and Tyler sure as hell didn't owe him an explanation.

"Just don't come crying to me when she destroys you. Because she will. You're already putting your all into this and for what? Because you like getting your dick wet and keeping your bed warm? This won't end well, Tyler. Trust me. Two broken people can not and do not make a whole. They just make a mess of things."

Five years have come and gone since that conversation. Since Gaspar had betrayed him and tried to kill him. And since Ovi turned the tables on the man and took his life. Sometimes Tyler wishes that Gaspar was still around solely so he could spite him, that he could sit him down at the kitchen table and make him look at the beautiful little faces gathered there. See how their eyes sparkle when they smile and hear their laughs. These tiny beings made up from the very best parts of their mother and father. Who know they're loved without question and live in a house where they see love and respect between the two people who'd come together and created them.

Maybe things had started out in a less than perfect way.

But what they had now was perfect for them.

"So this girl…" he address Ovi, as they lounge together on the front porch; the baby spread along his thighs as he drinks a bottle of milk, an eye on the twins as they play together on an old tire swing dangling from the branch of a towering willow. "...you see her again last night?"

The kid nods.

"You spend the night or…?"

"No. I came home. This time I didn't lose my key. I still feel horrible about that. I didn't mean to scare anyone."

"You realize how close I came to shooting you, yeah? I thought someone broke into the house. My wife and my kids were there. And I'll do anything to protect them. You know that. Definitely wasn't your smartest moment. But this girl…whatever you said her name is…"

"Chloe," he sighs it with a long, content sigh and Tyler is tempted to slap the shit out of him. But he knows what it's like to get caught up in a whirlwind; to be unable to catch your breath or even think straight.

"What's the deal with you two? You seeing each other or sleeping together or…?"

"I guess we're seeing each other. We like to spend time together. But we haven't slept together. I already told you about that. That I wasn't ready for that."

"And what about her? Is she ready for that?"

Ovi shrugs.

"I can't believe I'm even having this conversation right now. Part of me wants to avoid it altogether and another part of me is just surprised we haven't had it sooner." And yet another part is grateful his own sons are at least eleven or twelve years away from needing the same talk. "So you know to be careful, right? You know how to be careful?" Fuck. It sounded lame even to his own ears.

Ovi looks offended. "I know what condoms are. And how to use them. I did take health class in school."

"Well just make sure you use them. If it comes down to needing them. Use them no matter what. Even if she says she's on the pill. Unless you want to get the burn. Do you want to get the burn?"

"The burn? What?"

"It's just a nickname for a STD. You know what those are right?"

"I learned about those the first year here."

"Well make sure you don't get any. Be safe. All the time. Take responsibility for wrapping your shit up." He feels like a hypocrite for even saying it. Seeing as he and Esme had never used a damn thing during those five days in Dhaka and she ended up pregnant. "Look what I'm about to say, don't take it the wrong way. Because I love my daughter. You know that. But she wasn't exactly planned, know what I'm saying? Things just happened between Esme and I. We barely even knew each other. And in hindsight, we should have been more careful. But we weren't. And Millie is the result of that. She wasn't made out of love. It was two strangers who couldn't and wouldn't stop fucking each other. Understand what I'm saying?"

"But if it didn't happen, she wouldn't be here," Ovi points out.

"I'm just saying that we should have known better and been more careful. What would have happened if I got Esme pregnant and in the end it turned out we couldn't stand one another? It would have been a big fucking mess. Don't get yourself into a big fucking mess. That's all I'm saying. Understand?"

The kids.

"Just take your time and get to know her. Really know her. That's my best advice. Other than wrapping shit up. And if you want to bring her here, that's fine. But she doesn't spend the night under my roof. I don't want that shit going on with my kids in the house. Probably sounds old fashioned, but I'd just rather you didn't do shit like that. Okay?"

"So everything came back fine? All her background checks?"

"Other than an uncle that likes to beat up women, things are clean. Now that's not an invitation to just go crazy and propose to her and all that shit. Just take your time. You have your whole life ahead of you. You're way too young to be thinking about marriage and keeping a wife happy and having kids."

"Do you ever regret it? Marrying someone so soon? Having a baby so quickly?"

"Do I regret it? No. Hard to regret it when you end up loving someone as much as I love my wife. I'd die for her. In a heartbeat. And I have an incredible little girl. So no. I don't regret it. I wouldn't go back and change things if that's what you mean. But I'm lucky. Things worked out. How many people do things like this happen to where it doesn't work out? Don't be one of those people."

****

The sound of tires on the gravel driveway brings their conversation to a halt. Tyler gets to his feet and checks his watch; way too early for Esme and Millie to be returning from their girls day. Very few know where they live; all mail rerouted to a post office box, all deliveries picked up at the outlet at the pharmacy. His clients for his side business only have a cell number to contact. Extra measures that had to be taken considering the job and the many toes he's trampled on in the nearly ten years he's been in the game. And he frowns at the first sight of the unfamiliar vehicle; a Lexus SUV with tinted windows and all terrain tires.

"Who is that?" Ovi asks.

"Take the kids out back," Tyler hands him the baby, puts two fingers in his mouth and issues a shrill whistle to capture the twins' attention. "Boys…come here.."

"Who is that, daddy?" Tanner inquires, watching over his shoulder as the Lexus glides to a stop alongside their own vehicle and the driver kills the ignition.

"Go out back with Ovi," he instructs. "Stay back there until I either come to you guys or I call for you. Understand?"

The twins both nod and he tousles their hair and presses a kiss to the top of their heads.

"Maybe I should stay here," Ovi nervously suggests.

"Everything's fine. I doubt a guy driving a car like that can do much manage. Just take them out back. Keep them busy. I won't be long."

Ovi reluctantly agrees, carrying the baby on his hip, a twin on either side, holding onto his shorts by the side pockets. Tyler watches them go, making sure they're well out of ear shot before stepping down of the porch, hitting the middle of the front walkway just as the driver throws open the door and steps up. Fairly tall and quite stocky, with pushed back brown hair that's graying at the temples and receding slightly at the crown. Glasses, dressed conservatively in a blue blazer, white golf shirt and khaki pants.

"Nice piece of property you have back in here," he says, as he shuts the driver's side door. "Hard to find. Beautiful though."

"That's how we like it. Lots of privacy. No one just coming back in here unannounced. Well, until now anyway."

"How many acres?"

"Little over five."

The stranger gives a nod of approval. "Very nice. Esme always wanted a place like this. In the middle of nowhere. Where she could have a whole bunch of goats running around. Whole bunch of kids. You must be Tyler," he offers a hand.

"I am," he confirms. "Who are you?"

"I'm Mark. Esme's…"

"Ex husband," Tyler finishes for him. "Yeah, I heard my mother in law told you where we are. I'm just surprised you actually showed up. That something told you it was a good idea."

"Michelle said that there shouldn't be a problem. That neither of you would mind."

Tyler smirks. "We mind. What are you doing here? Just one day woke up and decided you weren't quite done tormenting your ex wife?"

He sighs. "I seen you've heard the stories."

"I have. Which makes you being here a really bad idea. You shouldn't be here. I don't appreciate people just showing up out of the blue. Especially when my kids are here. And especially when I do know all the stories. So it's probably best you just get back in the car and leave. You won't find what you're looking for here."

"She said that you'd probably be combative. That you're a tad possessive."

"Protective," he corrects. "I'm protective. Of my kids. Of my wife." He stresses the word 'my', noticing how it instantly unnerves the other man. "Why are you even here? It's been what? Seven years? Eight? And suddenly you just decide you want to see her again?"

"Is she home?" Mark attempts to step by him.

Tyler moves to block him. An easy feat considering he's wider. Broad and solid and definitely not a push over. "She's not."

"Are you just saying that because you don't want me talking to her, or…"

"I'm saying that because she's not here. And because you shouldn't be here either. I don't know what game you're playing, but you've got the wrong guy to try and play it with. She's out. With our daughter. So just get back in your car and…"

"Ex army, right?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Marine," Mark boasts.

Tyler smirks. "Mate, I honestly don't give a shit. Navy, Air Force, Army, Marines. I don't give a fuck. So don't try that bullshit with me. I'm going to ask you again. Why are you here?"

"I'm here to talk to Esme."

"Why?"

"Well to be quite honest, that's business that is between her and I."

"Your business became my business when she became my wife. You show up at me house, where my kids are, wanting to see my wife and I'm supposed to be okay with it? What do you want? I'm not going to ask you again. I won't think twice about dragging your ass down the driveway and throwing your ass in the road."

Sighing heavily, Mark removes his sunglasses and slips into the inside pocket of his jacket. "I was warned you might be a little…hostile."

"You don't want to see me when I get hostile. So unless you want me dropping you on your ass.."

"I'm in a program. A twelve step one. I've just gotten to the step where it comes to making amends for the wrongs we've committed. That's why I'm here. I know some of the blame can be placed on me when it comes to Esme and I splitting up."

"Some? Because from what I heard, it was pretty one sided."

"I wasn't the best husband, I agree. I had my faults. But you probably know for yourself that she's not exactly the easiest person to live with."

"It must have been something to do with you. Because I haven't had any problems living with her at all."

"You know how she can get. She's moody. Irrational. She likes to pick fights. Nothing is ever good enough for her. I'd even go as far as unstable but…"

"That's my wife you're talking about," Tyler interjects, attempting to keep his cool. "So I'd stop while you're ahead. Just admit that you were a fuck head, mate. That you cheated on her. Multiple times. That you bullied her. Put your hands on her. Make it easier on yourself and just admit it."

"Like I said, I know I'm partly to blame. But she wasn't one hundred percent innocent."

Tyler smirks. "We're done here. I don't need to hear anything else. You might have gotten away with gaslighting her, but you won't get away with it with me. I've dealt with bigger and better, mate. I don't care about your twelve step program. I don't give a shit that you're looking for absolution. Esme owes you nothing. She never deserved what you did. No one deserves that. So you need to just leave. Because I'm just about out of fucking patience."

"Daddy," TJ is at his side, tugging at the bottom of his t-shirt. "Ovi said to come and check on you."

'Yeah? Well I told Ovi to keep you in the backyard. So go on. I'll be back in a minute."

"Hey there, little man," Mark greets, and crouches down so he is eye level with the child.

Tyler puts a hand on the top of his son's head, moving him away from the unwelcome guest.

"Hi," TJ says in return. "Who are you?"

"An old friend of your mom's. Which one are you? Tanner or Tyler?"

"I'm Tyler. Like daddy. That's his name too."

"And you're how old? Three?"

"Almost four," TJ confirms. "I have another brother too. Not just Tanner. A baby brother. Declan. And a big sister. Amelia. We call her Millie though."

"Alright, that's enough," Tyler runs a hand over his son's hair and gently nudges him towards the backyard. "Go back to Ovi and the others. I'll be there in a few minutes. Okay?"

"Okay," he reluctantly agrees, then adds a cheerful 'bye!' in Mark's direction before running off."

"He's a cutie, huh?" Mark grins as he stands up. "Twins. And two other ones. She always wanted a big family. Wasn't in the cards for us, though. We weren't on the same page when it came to wanting a family. I'm honestly glad she found someone that wanted it as much as she did. I bet she's a great mom."

"She's an amazing mom. And wife. Are we just about done here? Because I really need to get back to my kids."

"It really did a number on her when she lost the baby. She was never quite the same after that."

Tyler frowns. "Baby?"

"She was only a couple of months. We'd just found out. Didn't really have a chance to get used to the idea. You didn't know about that? That there'd been a baby?"

"First I'm hearing about it."

"I wonder why she wouldn't tell you. Maybe it didn't bother her as much as she let on it did. If she didn't even tell you about it, maybe it wasn't that big of a deal after all. Look, I'm not here to cause problems with the two of you. I'm not here to try and win her back. That ship sailed a long time ago. I just want to talk to her. I just want to apologize and make amends for the things I did. The things I said. I'm sure even you can understand that."

Tyler nods.

"Can you at least ask her to give me a call? I don't have to come back here. I know when I'm not welcome. But it's really important that I do this. And I think she deserves to hear the things I have to say. Can you do that for me at least? Get her to contact me?" he pulls a business card from one of the pockets on his blazers and offers it. "I really am happy for her. That she moved on. That she found someone that's crazy about her and was able to give her what she wanted. She's a great girl."

"Yeah," he plucks the card from Mark's hand. "She really is. Your loss is my gain."

"It definitely is. When she loves, she loves with her whole heart. You're a lucky man. I hope you realize that."

"Sometimes I have to be reminded," Tyler admits, and this time when Mark offers a hand, he shakes it.

"You've got a beautiful family," Mark says, as he heads for his SUV. "I hope you and Esme are happy. She deserves to be happy. That's all I want for her."

"That's all I want for her too," Tyler responds, then shoves the business card into the back pocket of his jeans. Hands on hips as he watches the other man climb into the SUV and drive away.

****

"Daddy!" Millie bellows the moment she steps through the front door, hastily kicking off her sandals and then scurrying down the hallway that leads to the back of the house. "Daddy! You have to see! Daddeeeeee!"

He's at the kitchen sink, up to the forearms is water and dish soap, and he dries his hands on the thighs of his jeans just as she races into the room and hurls herself towards him. Effortlessly catching that little body in large, strong arms and scooping her up.

Esme drops her purse on the counter and watches them together; a precious, trusting five year old and a tall, strong man who is capable of inflicting so much pain and punishment. His entire demeanour changes when he's in 'daddy mode'; features and smile softening, eyes sparkling, tone gentle and patient. It's phenomenally sexy; a man that big and powerful with these innocent, precious lives who idolize him so much. Two very different sides in one person; one is merciless and savage and takes lives if he needs to. The other nurtures and loves and helps create life.

Millie proudly and excitedly shows off the pampering that she'd received: sparkly pink and purple polish on her fingers and toes –"Just like mommy's"- and her hair curled into tight ringlets.

"Why does it sparkle?" Tyler asks. "Why is there glitter in your hair?"

"Daddy…" she sighs dramatically. "…it's not glitter. It's unicorn dust."

"Unicorn dust? What's that? Is that what comes out of a unicorn's butt when they fart?"

"Maybe…" she sing songs, and then giggles when he nuzzles his face against hers; effectively and purposefully tickling her with his beard.

"Why don't you go outside and show Ovi," he suggests, pressing a kiss to her cheek and setting her down. "He'd like to hear about a unicorn farting all over your head."

"It's not farts, daddy!" she argues, as she skips towards the sliding door and throws it open. "It's unicorn dust!" And then she's gone, bounding across the deck and jumping from the top step without a single stitch of fear. Hitting the ground running; shrieking about painted nails and glittery hair and elbowing anyone in the face that dares try to mess her curls up.

"And you say I'm the one giving you the gray hair," Esme smirks. "It's definitely her."

"You're the gray hair. She's the ulcer," he places his hands on her hips, and kisses her in greeting. "Hi."

"Hi," she runs her hands up the back of his t-shirt, then rakes her newly done nails down his back.

"What the fuck? Like fucking talons."

"They're not that sharp. And you're the one that always says it's a turn on when I do things like that."

Many a time he's woken up the next day with his entire back, shoulders, and even rib cage carved to shit; long, bright red gouges that mar the skin and sting like a bitch.

"I wasn't complaining. I'm just saying they're…" he winces when she gets him right in the middle of the spine. One lonesome finger nail dragging all the way down to just under waist of his jeans. "…fucking sharp. You need to stop…" he kisses her once more and then backs away. "…quit trying to seduce me all the time."

"Like I have to try," she snorts, as he goes back to the sink full of dishes and she plucks a bottle of water from the fridge. "I think you're the one that's doing the seducing," she says, as she leans back against the counter next to him. "Doing housework while I'm watching? There's nothing sexier than that. Seeing you all domestic and shit. What's next? Laundry and vacuuming?"

"Already did the vacuuming and the last load of laundry is in the wash."

"Baby, you are making me so wet right now. I might actually jump you right here and right now if you tell me that you remembered to take something out of the freezer for supper."

"I did remember. But as much as I wouldn't object to being jumped in all the right ways right now, it is definitely not a good time. Too many little people running around. And Ovi is still traumatized from almost being shot the other night. Seeing us fucking? That would be years of extremely expensive therapy."

"Or, it would be great experience for him to take back to Christine or Cathy or whatever her name is."

"Chloe. And he says they haven't had sex. Actually, he says he's never had sex at all."

Her eyes widen, bottle of water pressed to her lips. "Get out of here. Seriously?"

"That's what he says. He's told me that twice now. And I had to have the 'talk' with him today."

"I can only imagine how that went," she gathers up a dish towel and steps alongside of him. "I love you, but open communication is not one of your strong suits."

"What are you talking about? We communicate fine."

"That's different. You and I know each other intimately. Once you start seeing one another naked and doing the things we do together and to each other, I think it means we can pretty much talk about anything. I mean, we're at the stage where I can pee while you're brushing your teeth and you don't think about it. But you talking to a teenage boy about sex? That doesn't seem awkward at all."

He frowns. "I'm not exactly a rookie when it comes to sex, you know."

"Baby, you are so far from being a rookie it isn't even funny. But I mean talking about it. With someone who isn't me. Someone who is practically your kid. And Ovi's shy and sort of awkward so he was probably mortified that you were talking about whatever you were talking about."

"I just told him to be careful and wrap his shit up. That the last thing he wanted was knocking her up or getting an STD."

"Kind of ironic," she grins. "You talking about condoms considering…"

"Yeah, I thought about that too. Kind of makes me a hypocrite."

"Well in all fairness, we were adults who knew exactly what we were getting into. It's not that we didn't know the risks. It's just that we didn't seem to give a shit about them. Which just means my blow job game is strong enough to temporarily wipe you of all your brain cells."

Tyler smirks. "Temporarily? It's five years later and we're married with four kids. That's a permanent loss of brain cells."

Frowning, she smacks in across the ass with the towel. When she tries it a second time, he grabs a hold of the fabric and pulls her into him, covering her mouth with his in a long, slow kiss. The kind that has her standing on her tiptoes and her arms sneaking around his waist as her body curves into his. And she breaks out of the kiss with a laugh when he slides one of his soaking wet hands down the back of her shorts. Struggling against him as he chuckles and holds her body against the counter with the full weight of his and proceeds to suck and nibble at the side of her neck.

"And you talk about me trying to seduce you?" she laughs, trying to use her elbows in his chest to push him away. "You're like a fifteen year old. Nothing but raging hormones and pent up sexual frustration. Which makes no sense considering how much you actually manage to get laid on a regular basis. Oh shit!" she curses, when his teeth grab a hold of that sensitive spot between her neck and shoulder. "That's going to leave a mark. What's wrong with you?"

"Like you said. Nothing but raging hormones and pent up sexual frustration," his palm slides down do her ass; tightly squeezing it through her shorts as his tongue soothes the bite mark he'd left on her skin.

"If this is your version of a midlife crisis, I'm totally okay with it," she says, her hands pushing their way into his hair as his mouth moves across the neckline of her t-shirt. "By the way, I bought one of those test things today. You know the ones that tell you when the best time to get pregnant is? You know, just in case I give in to your idiotic idea of another baby."

"Just one more."

"What if one turns into another two at once?"

"We'll deal with it. And why do we need a test to tell us that? We just keep fucking like we do and it'll just happen."

"It will tell us which days are best. You know, the days where we have to put a little…extra…into it…"

He grins against her neck, beard scratching the tender skin. "I think I have extra I could put into it."

"That's the spirit. You never disappoint me."

"Ever?" his lips travel along the side of her throat, his breath warm, tip of his nose tickling the skin as he moves up to just below her ear.

"Ever. I had high expectations you know. Of what you'd look like naked."

"You actually thought of what I looked like naked before I got naked? When did you think about that?"

"My dirty little fantasies pretty much started when I walked into your place. Hard not to have sex dreams about a guy that looks like you do. I wasn't even put off by the fact you had a chicken as a significant other. I think it was the eyes. And the big arms."

"And the voice."

"Yeah…" she sighs, fingernails digging into his scalp as he places a trail of kisses along the outer edge of her ear. "…that too…."

"So you thought of me naked? When?"

"Of you know, when a girl is lonely and horny in bed at night."

He chuckles. "That's a turn on. Knowing you actually thought about me when…"

"I still do. When you're away. Just so you know."

"That's pretty fucking hot. Not gonna lie."

"I would have been so disappointed if you'd dropped your pants in that hotel room and you were a short dick man. That would have been it. I would not have let you anywhere near me. The disappointment would have been too great."

"Well it's a good thing for both of us that I lived up to your expectations."

"Oh you did. And then some. The thing about a man having a big hands and feet is very much true."

Both his hands find her ass now, drawing her tightly against him as he kisses her. Long. Deep. Slow. His tongue pushing its way into her mouth and finding hers. And she willingly reciprocates, both hands sliding down to his shoulders.

"Okay…" she pushes him away, fanning her face with her hand. "…you need to stop and take about five steps back or I honestly will jump you and not care who comes in and sees it."

"They all have to learn sooner than later," he reasons, and puts a hand on the back of her head and pulls her into another toe curling kiss. Feeling her hands slide down his back and then in between them, hands slipping under the front of his t-shirt, finding the buckle on his belt. One of her fingers slipping just under the waist of his jeans and teasing the skin there.

The sound of the sliding door being drawn open causes both of them to jump.

"Sorry," a bashful Ovi says from the doorway. "I didn't mean to interrupt your baby making but…"

"We weren't making babies," Esme says, as she clears her throat noisily and moves to grab her bottle of water. "You stopped that before it could happen."

"In the kitchen?" Ovi sounds horrified.

Tyler returns to the task of washing dishes. "Kid, there isn't a place in this house that hasn't been christened already. Might want to think about it every time you sit down somewhere."

"Or not think about it because I know how distressing the thought of Tyler being naked can be," Esme teases. " Trust me, don't think about it. It's really disturbing."

Her husband smirks.

"The kids just wanted something to drink," Ovi says. "They were thirsty, so…"

She fetches a sleeve of juice boxes from the fridge and hands it to him.

"Did Tyler tell you?" he asks. "About who came to visit you today?"

"No, Tyler did not," Tyler replies for her. "Because Tyler was busy trying to get laid first before telling her the bad news."

"Who came to visit?" she glances between the two of them.

"You can go back outside now," Tyler says to Ovi, who blinks at the force in his eyes and then gives an apologetic smile before slinking back through the sliding door.

"Who came to visit?" Esme asks again. "Oh God, please tell me it wasn't my mother. Yesterday she called you a tall, cool, drink of water and I haven't been the same since."

"It wasn't your mother. I would have actually preferred if it was your mother. As fucked as it is that I'd admit that." Unplugging the sink, he dries his hands on the dish towel and then reaches into the back pocket of his jeans in order to pull out the business card that her ex had given him. "He wants you to call him."

Arching and eyebrow, she plucks the card from his hand. Immediately frowning when she sees who it belongs to. "He actually gave you a business card? Who the hell does that? And why does he have business cards? He's retired for Christ sakes."

"He likes to throw it around that he was a Marine. Expected me to be impressed."

"He thinks it's some kind of power move," she rolls her eyes. "No one actually gives a shit. Did you kick the shit out of him?"

"No. But not because I didn't want to. He's kind of an arrogant prick, yeah? Thinks pretty highly of himself. You didn't tell me he was that much older than you."

"Eleven years is not that much older."

"Older enough. So what was it? Daddy issues?"

Her eyes narrow. "Please tell me you're joking and not being serious when you say that. Because you know about my father and what happened and I will kick you in the nuts. We're not going to fight over this. Over my ex husband."

"I don't want to fight," he assures her. "But he is a fucking asshole. You weren't wrong about that. He definitely doesn't understand that what he did was wrong. Kept trying to tell me all this bullshit that you had your own role to play in it and you were partly to blame to."

"And you believe that?"

"I told him it didn't matter what you may have said or did. He didn't have a reason to do the things he did or say the things he said. There's no fucking excuse for any of that."

"He' a narcissist. I told you that. He loves to gaslight people."

"What I don't understand is why you never told me that you were having a baby with him."

She blinks. "What?"

"He told me that you guys were having a baby. Which I was kind of surprised to hear about because you never once mentioned it yourself in the past five years."

"There was no reason to tell you about that."

"I'm your husband. How much more of a reason do you need?"

She taps the edge of the business card against the counter top. "It was way before you. Before I even knew you existed. You would have been still been married to your first wife at the time. Austin would have been a baby. Why would I bring up something from that long ago?"

"I talk about my life from that long ago," he points out, as he leans back against the counter, arms crossed over his chest.

"That's totally different and you know it. You lost a child. You have every right and reason to talk about him. Why wouldn't you tell me about him? He's still very much an important part of your life."

"And this baby wasn't? The one you were having with your ex?"

"It was never a baby, Tyler. Not in the true sense of the word. I'd only known for a week when I lost it. There's no comparison between that and what you went through. I didn't see a reason to tell you about it because it wasn't that serious."

"So my wife, almost has a baby with her first husband but there's no reason for me to know about?" he scoffs, and shakes his head. "That makes no sense."

"Why are you making a big deal about this? It was a long time ago. And I didn't almost have a baby. I didn't even come close. It wasn't meant to be obviously. Could you imagine having a kid with that guy? It would have been a fucking nightmare. Things happen for a reason. You say that all the time."

"You just would think it would come up in a conversation, yeah? You've been pregnant three times and not once did you think of bringing it up? Like maybe you were worried it might happen again?"

"I was worried. I just kept it to myself. All pregnant women worry about things like that."

"Sure. And they probably tell their husbands about it. And you know why? Because they weren't the only ones who made the goddamn baby in the first place. Last time I checked, it took the two of us."

"Don't be so goddamn condescending," she huffs, and tosses the business card onto the counter. "I hate when you get that way. That tone you get when you think you're somehow morally superior."

"I have never…ever…thought that."

'Bullshit. You do it all the time. You don't even realize you're doing it. Every time you don't like something I have to say. Or you don't agree with some decision I made back in a time where you didn't even exist in my life yet. I may not agree with all the decisions you've made, but at least I support you. I don't have this fucking chip on my shoulder."

"I don't have a chip on my shoulder. I…"

"I didn't tell you because that part of my life didn't matter any more. Because I just wanted to forget about it and put it behind me. Because once you came into my life, everyone and everything before you ceased to exist. I didn't want to remember all of that. And then Millie came along and I had everything I wanted. I had this amazing guy and a beautiful baby and all that other bullshit was left in the past where it belonged. So I wasn't intentionally keeping anything from you. I was keeping it from myself."

He grabs a hold of her wrist as she tries to stomp off. "Don't do that," he says. "You do that every time we get in fight."

"Only because I'm this close…" she holds her thumb and forefinger an inch apart. "…to punching you in the face. You know I hate when you pull that self righteous bullshit with me."

She struggles against his grip, but he only tightens his hold on her.

"Not everything is about you, Tyler. My past is just that. You didn't need to know. And I'm sorry if that pisses you off or hurts your ego or…"

"Stop," his voice is surprisingly tender despite the power in his grasp. "…just stop." And when she opens her mouth to speak, he pulls her into him, speaking in between pecks to her lips. "…just…fucking…stop…"

"You fucking stop," she retorts. "Stop it with those stupid eyes and your stupidly good-looking face and that stupid voice of yours."

"I'm sorry," It's the first time he's ever surrendered first. There's been arguments that have gone on for days because neither of them wanted to admit defeat. "I didn't mean to be a condescending asshole. I don't mean to be that way and you know it."

She reaches up and runs her hands along his beard, cradling his face in her hands, thumbs brushing over his lips. "Sometimes I worry we're not doing this marriage thing very well."

"Why? Because we fight? All couples fight. We don't fight over things that can't be fixed."

"I worry I'm a shitty wife. That I'm just like you're ex."

"You are far from being anything like my ex. Trust me. And you're not a shitty wife. You're an amazing wife. And an amazing mother. I'm not the easiest person to live with. I know that. Why do you think the chicken shit everywhere? It was definitely out of spite."

She can't help but laugh at that.

"But I love you. And I love our life together. Fights and all."

"You just like the making up."

He grins. "I'm not going to deny that." His eyes never leave hers as her fingers gently trace the various scars that mar his face. Her touch is soft, soothing. And he feels it to his very soul.

She stands on her tip toes and kisses him. Short and sweet. Yet powerful all at the same time. Feeling so much love and trust and forgiveness in the simple press of her lips against his.

"Sometimes I wish I didn't love you as much as I do," she admits. "So it would be easier to be angry with you. And I know I'm not easy to live with either. That I test your patience. A lot. I'm not perfect. Far from it."

"Neither am I. But you're still here."

She smiles, presses her lips against his forehead. "There's no place I'd rather be."

And it's the truth. He's her happy place. Where she feels safe. Protected. All the things she's never even known she'd been desperate for until she'd walked into that little shack in the Australian outback.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: SOME SMUT

She straddles his lower back as he lays on his stomach in the middle of their bed; her fingers pressing into the tight and aching muscles in his right shoulder. The pain is moderate to severe tonight. A dull ache that starts in the base of his neck and travels the entire length of his arm, throbbing in the elbow and pins and needles in the fingers. Scar tissue from the various surgeries he'd needed after Dhaka wrapping and twisting around ligaments and nerves and causing on going issues. The worst is his right shoulder; a reconstructive surgery to piece everything back after repeated shoulder separations had led to increased mobility issues. The scar running over both the front and back deltoid muscles and along the top of his shoulder to the nape of his neck. Surgeons had been able to save and improve mobility but had warned that there'd be permanent and progressive consequences, tightening and shortening of muscles and ligaments, bursitis, arthritis. The list went on. Long term physio, massage, drugs. Umpteen things prescribed or suggested that made him feel a hell of a lot older than his forty years.

"Ovi wants to bring that girl over tomorrow," Esme says, as she uses both thumbs to get into that tough spot right under his shoulder blade.

In the last five years she's grown accustomed to every inch of his body; whether it be providing relief for therapy for painful joints in muscles or when they made love. Those fingers acquainting themselves with every muscle, memorizing the way they twisted and bulged, how they moved under her touch. She knew every spot that either ached or turned him on, able to intricately trace the outline of every tattoo and scar. There was a time where the memories those scars held were too painful to relive; she couldn't see them, let alone touch them, without being reminded of the horrific events in Dhaka. Now the trauma had subsided, and she no longer had to look away or pull her hands back. The events were still fresh in her mind, but she was able to block them out. There was something bittersweet about those scars now. The ones that he'd gained while in Dhaka. A reminder of how she'd almost lost him but how he'd fought back and they'd both been given a second chance.

"Why?" Tyler asks, both forearms under the pillow his cheek rests against.

"I guess he thinks this is going to be something long term and serious and he wants us to meet her. He seems pretty crazy about her. I don't remember him being this bad over any of the girls he dated in high school."

"I wonder if he's going to cough up his V card sooner rather than later."

"You have an unsettling obsession with his virginity," she teases, and he turns his face into the middle and lets loose a string of profanity when she gets up under the shoulder blade and presses a hard as she can. His entire body going rigid; toes digging into the mattress. "And no," she says, as she releases the pressure. "That was not meant as punishment for said virginity obsession."

"It's not an obsession," he lifts his head from the pillow and removes one arm from under it, resting his chin on it. A pained grimace on his face, sweat beading across his forehead and gathering at his hairline and temples. "I'm just curious. She's an older woman, he's a virgin. He's lucky when you think about it. She's probably got all kinds of experience."

"Or she could be relatively inexperienced like I was when we first met."

"The things you knew how to do and you were comfortable letting me do? You weren't that inexperienced."

"You are the third and the last. Three guys? That's not a lot."

"Well the other two must have been really good teachers. I should send them thank you cards. Fuck," he groans, as she runs her knuckles along the entire length of his right shoulder blade. "You're savage for a little thing."

"How do you know it wasn't you who was the good teacher?" she suggests. "I mean, there wasn't else much to do for those five days and you are blessed with an incredible amount of patience and stamina. How do you know I didn't just let you do all the work and show me how things are done?"

"Because I was there and I know that isn't true. There were things you knew and that you did willingly and I never even had to say a word."

"Maybe you're just so hot I said 'fuck it. I'll let him do whatever he wants'."

"Well, you did let me go where no other man has ever gone before. After only three days. So…"

"You really are a fifteen-year-old with raging hormones stuck in a grown man's body," she chides. "So you think he will? Cough it up to this girl?"

"I wouldn't blame him if he did. What guy wouldn't take it if it's right there staring him in the face? I don't know why we have to meet her though. Can't he just fuck her and leave us out of it?"

"I don't think this is strictly a having someone to fuck situation. I think he's actually really into her. Haven't you noticed the way his entire face lights up when he talks about her?" Her fingers and thumbs move up to the top of his shoulder, firmly pressing along the scar.

"You honestly don't think I pay attention to that kind of shit do you? I'm a guy. Guys do not pay attention to that kind of stuff."

"He's totally crazy about her. It's so obvious. Pay attention next time. I'll ask about her tomorrow at breakfast. Just watch how he reacts. What he does with his face. You do it sometimes too. When you look at me."

"Am I drunk when I do it?"

"I'm going to seriously smother in you sleep. Don't be such a smart ass. I know you hate talking about feelings and all that sappy stuff. But I know you feel that stuff. You don't have to admit it, baby. I know you better than you know yourself sometimes."

It's true. There were times she could just look at him and know what he was thinking or feelings. Easily finishing his sentences. Or giving words to the thoughts in his mind that he couldn't find an adequate way to express.

"I still don't understand why we have to meet her," he says, forehead against the pillow, teeth digging into his bottom lip as she narrows in on the troublesome spot on the base of his neck.

"Because he wants us to. Because we're his family and he wants her to meet his family."

"It's going be weird explaining all of that. I hope he's not going to throw me under the bus and leave it to me to answer her questions."

"Just tell her what we've told everyone else who asks," her hands move down onto his spine, pressing into each vertebra. "His parents were friends of ours who died in a car accident and we were named his guardians in their will."

"That story isn't going to hold up forever. One day or another, the truth will come out. It always does."

'Well don't let her be the one you tell it to. The last thing we need is to traumatize her and have her sue us for emotional pain and suffering. Can you imagine hearing a story like that? It sounds screwed up to me and I lived it. Imagine how messed up it would be to her? We'll just have a nice quiet dinner like a normal family."

"Like we're normal. Have you met our kids?"

"Good point. Your spawns do have a tendency to get a little rowdy."

"My spawns," he snorts. "Because I'm the only one responsible for why they're here."

"You had your five minutes of fun, didn't you?"

"You and I have very different experiences of the times our kids were conceived. Were you even in the room when it happened? Because five minutes? Times that by like twenty."

"Oh, you wish! You may have the stamina of a God but that's even too much for you. I love you and you're a great fuck, but let's be realistic."

"Better than your ex?"

She laughs. "You've been wondering that all day, haven't you?"

"Not all day but…" he closes his eyes and inhales sharply when she finally reaches the tailbone. Applying pressure as her hands move across the small of his back and over to his hips. "…I did think about it."

"I can't believe you'd even think it was a valid question. You are way at the head of the line on the best lover list. Second place is way back there. And it isn't him, so…" she leans sideways to grab the bottle of pain relief cream lying on the mattress beside him. Grimacing when she opens the lid and sniffs. "…do I seriously have to sleep in the same room as you tonight? How offended would you be if I told you to sleep on the couch?"

"Very fucking offended."

"This is not a smell I want next to me all night," she holds the bottle up to his nose, and he coughs and gags. "Almost as bad as that sewer back in Dhaka."

"Nothing will ever be as bad as that sewer back in Dhaka. But that does smell like shit. Just leave it."

"The doctor said it's the best one to use."

"Who cares. I'll put it on after you fall asleep. Then I'll put a clothespin over your nose so you won't wake up when the smell hits you."

"You're very stubborn," she says.

"You tell me that every day at least five times a day. And that's every day for the last five years."

"So then stop being an enormous pain in my ass."

"Never," he declares. "Get up for a second."

She pushes herself up onto her knees, allowing him to roll onto his back. "You okay?" she asks, noticing the grimace on his face.

"Fine. I'm fine," he places his hands on her hips and settles her back down on his stomach. "Thank you, babe. That feels a lot better."

"I don't ever want to hear you say I never do anything nice for you," she teases, as she leans down to kiss him and then settles her face in between his neck and his shoulder. A hand coming up to comb through the longer strands of his hair as he wraps both arms around her.

****

"So you're being serious?" he asks after several minutes. "About this list of yours?"

"You can not be serious right now."

"I'm just curious. You said you had a list and that I was first on it."

"Are you honestly self conscious over my ex? Really? You of all people? You're the last guy I'd ever expect that from."

"I'm not being self conscious. I'm just curious."

"Baby, you are at the top of every list I've had since I was sixteen and I first started dating."

"Are these lists written down somewhere or…"

"Tyler…seriously…" she laughs against the side of his throat. "…you have absolutely nothing to be self conscious about. You are in an entirely different league than my ex in every possible way. It's the man versus the boys. Let's leave it at that. There isn't any other man like you out there. I promise."

That answer seems to satisfy him, and he drops a kiss on the top of her head.

'What about your lists?" she inquires.

"I don't have lists. I don't do weird shit like that."

"It doesn't mean you don't keep mental notes. Where would I be on your list?"

"I already told you. You give the best head I've ever had. I would have travelled from Australia to Colorado just for that."

"What about the other stuff?"

"What other stuff?"

She sighs in exasperation.

"What do you want me to say? That you're the best I've ever had and I've totally forgotten about every other woman that came before you?"

"I swear to God if you put me at the bottom of the list…"

Tyler laughs, and wrapping an arm around her waist, sits up and effortlessly tosses her down onto her back. "There is no list. I don't think about things like that. I just know that you give the best head I've ever had and sex with you is incredible. Every time. I don't compare it to other people. Why do I need to? None of them matter any more."

"You're being very diplomatic about this," she frowns, but then sighs when his lips find the side of her neck.

His beard is rough against her skin, his breath warm, lips and tongue moist as they travel along her jaw and move up to her ear. His hand heavy on her stomach; pushing up the bottom of her simple tank top to expose an inch of flesh, fingertips gliding across her skin. And she shivers when the tip of his tongue traces the outer edge of her ear and his teeth gently sink into the lobe.

"What about Nik?" she asks.

"Who's Nik?"

"I'm being serious," she grabs a hold of his hair and yanks his head back, so he's looking at her. "What about her? Am I at least better than her?"

"Who am I married to?"

"You had a chance to marry her? What…?"

"Stop…" he kisses her, chuckling against her lips. "…there is no one else but you. No one else I ever think about. There's no one else I want other than you. So please…" he resumes the teasing and the torturing on her ear and her neck. "…stop…"

She opens her mouth to speak, then clamps it shut when his fingers make short work of the small bow holding tight the waist band of her bottoms. His mouth covering hers in a deep, hungry kiss as his hand slides down the front of her pyjama pants and dips between her legs. One hand in his hair and the other tightly gripping his shoulder as his tongue pushing its way past her teeth and seeking out hers. The kiss is desperate. Hungry. Needy. And she cries out into his mouth when he slips two fingers inside of her.

"Are you going to stop asking me questions now?" he asks, as he pulls back to study her face. Her pupils wide, her face flushed, hair falling across her forehead. "No more questions?"

She shakes her head, then lifts her head to kiss him. She curls an arm around his neck and pulls him into her; his free hand moving to support his weight, palm down on the mattress. Arching her back and pressing her hips flush against his palm as his fingers move inside of her. Slow, deep strokes that has all of her nerve endings on fire.

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he watches her. The way her eyes darken and her breathing picks up pace; hips rising and falling to match every move that his fingers make. Bringing his thumb in contact with her clit, softly rubbing at the hardened nub until she's got a hold of his hair once again and she's yanking him down into another kiss. Effectively muffling the noises that come tumbling out of her mouth.

He continues to kiss her; soft, gentle pecks interspersed with longer moments of closed mouth upon closed mouth. Waiting until her body stops shuddering and her breath returns to normal before removing his hand between her legs. Eyes locked on hers as he licks her fluid off of his fingers.

"You're evil," she declares.

"In the best possible ways, yeah?"

She nods and reaches for him, a hand cupping his erection through his boxer briefs. Long and hot and hard underneath that cool, smooth cotton. The tip of her tongue sliding along her lower lip as she strokes him through the fabric, her grip tight, applying just the right amount of pressure. Until he's swallowing noisily and his own breathing picks up his pace. Frowning when he suddenly pushes her hand away and then leans across the bed to grab a condom from the nightstand.

"No," she says, as she takes hold of his wrist. "Don't. Let's have a baby, Tyler. One more."

"You're sure?"

She nods. "But I swear to God, if your super sperm does something crazy like another set of twins or worse, triplets, you won't have to worry about a vasectomy because I will use a kitchen knife to cut your dick off myself. You're a little too good at making babies."

"Maybe," he grins, as he sits back on his heels and grabbing a hold of her hips, pulls her towards him. "But they're beautiful babies."

She smiles. "They are. We did good, didn't we."

"Yeah. We did. We did real good."

"Maybe the last one will be a girl," she muses. "There's way too much testosterone in this house."

"Maybe," he says, and hooks his fingers in the waist band over her pants and yanks them down in one swift movement. Batting her foot out of the way when she presses it against his crotch, toes rubbing against his cock. Placing a hand on either side of her head as he leans down to kiss her, capturing her bottom lip between his teeth before pushing his tongue into her mouth.

Her hands reach for the elastic band on his shorts and she hastily pushes them down over his hips and his ass. And he never breaks the kiss as one hand reaches behind him to shove the fabric down past his knees. Feeling her shudder against him and gasp into his mouth when he slips inside of her; groaning deep in his throat as he bottoms out inside of her.

"Fuck…" he breathes, forehead resting against hers. "…you feel so good. You always feel so good."

She raises her head to kiss him; a brief peck on the lips before her mouth moves across his jaw and down onto his throat. Tongue travelling over the scar that serves as a permanent memory of when he'd nearly lost his life. Hands sliding across his shoulders and down onto his back, nails pressing into his flesh and breaking the skin as he moves inside of her. Long, smooth strokes that fill her completely.

No other man has ever been able to do the things he does. Or make her feel the way he can. The way he looks down at her with so much love and adoration in his eyes. The way each movement and each kiss lets her know just how worshipped she really is. His gaze never wavering; those blue eyes locked on hers, as if they're burrowing into her very soul.

"I love you," she breathes. "I love you so much."

"I know," he smiles. "I love you too."

"Put a baby in me, Tyler. Put your baby in me."

He blinks at both the honesty and power that comes with those words. And then it is as if every last shred of patience and resolve shatters. Slow love making turning frantic and aggressive, those large hands flipping her over onto her stomach and forcing her up onto her knees, slamming into her with brutal force. One hand on her hip and the other gripping the headboard as he furiously pounds into her. Surprised at how well she has always taken him. Even five years ago in that dirty Dhaka hotel room when he'd lost complete and utter control for the first time.

He reaches around to find her clit; stroking it as he drives into her again and again until she's burying her face into a pillow to muffle her cries, his name repeatedly leaving her lips.

"Tell me when you're going to come," he says, as he drops his hand from the headboard and grabs her hair, yanking her head back, lips feasting on her neck. "Tell me."

"I'm close…" she manages between ragged gasps. "…so close…"

He pulls her to her knees, so her back is pressed against his front; her hands reaching back to grab at his hair.

"Tell me," he growls, and increases the pressure of his fingers. "Tell me."

"Tyler…" she can barely get his name out. "…fuck…Tyler…"

"I want you to come," he orders, and then removes his hand from between her legs and reaches between them to slip two fingers up her ass.

That's all it takes. Her head falling back against him, his free hand clamping down over her mouth in order to hide the scream; sis name, profanities, unintelligible nonsense he can't even begin to comprehend. And with two hard, strong stroke he's coming as well; a long, loud groan erupting from somewhere deep inside his chest. And he wraps his arm around her waist to hold her painfully tight against him; making sure that not one drop of his cum manages to trickle out of her.

His trembling legs give out; vision white as he collapses onto his back, chest heaving as he attempts to regain some control over his senses. And he feels her move against him; the soft brush of her skin against his, her lips pressing a series of kisses across his chest and collarbone. Blindly he reaches for her, a hand falling on the back of her neck and bringing her head down to his shoulder.

They lay like that. Cool breeze tumbling through the window and washing over their spent and sweaty bodies. Until she shivers against him and he sits up and reaches for the comforter at the end of the bed. Draping it over both of them as he once more gathers her in his arms and pulls her tight against him.

****

He awakens to tiny hands incessantly shaking him. Torn out of a dead sleep by the sensation of someone clutching him by the bicep and yanking his arm back and forth with as much strength as a little body will muster. He'd been dreaming about Dhaka; a confusing mash up of all five days. From those moments in the dirty hotel room where greedy, hungry hands tore at clothes, to the early morning hours when he'd dropped her off at the extraction point before heading to meet with Ovi's captors, to when they'd hid out in the sewer and eventually found themselves rescued by Gaspar and brought to his house. The betrayal of one of his oldest friends. Ovi taking the man's life.

It was all mixed together. His brain unable to make any sense of it. And he'd just been about to set foot on that bridge when he'd been startled out of his sleep. It was a relief; he hasn't had a dream about Dhaka in nearly four years and it isn't exactly a time in his life that he wants to visit. But the anxiety and nerves he'd felt even in the dream had been vivid; his heart hammers in his chest and sweat gathers at his temples and across his brow. He almost snaps; stuck in that hazy space between sleep and consciousness. When your body isn't fully awake, but your nerves are firing on all cylinders. It is fight of flight at that point, and his system chooses fight; ready to reach out and grab hold of what his brain is telling him is a threat when that little voice manages to break through.

"Daddy…" a pitiful pleading, accompanied by more shaking. "Daddy…wake up…please wake up…"

His daughter stands at the side of the bed. Even in the moonlight he can see the tears that stream down her face. The way she struggles to draw in a breath.

"Millie…" he pushes himself up onto his elbow and reaches up to push her hair away from her face. "…what's going on? What's wrong?"

"I had a bad dream. I was really scared. I made a mess. In my bed."

She'd gone through a stage of horrible nightmares the first time he'd returned home from the job with a broken wrist, split lip, and busted nose. The bruises and the injuries had terrified her and had set off months of trauma and sleepless nights for everyone. And he'd spent weeks either curled up beside her in that tiny single bed or sleeping on the floor right next to it.

"It's okay," he swings his legs over the side of the bed, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and checking the time on his cell phone that sits charging on the nightstand. 2:33 am. He's groggy; a side effect of the pain medication that he'd taken only two hours before. It had been the first sleep disturbance of the night; the deep-rooted pain that starts in his shoulder and just seems to spread from head to toe. "Let's go," he stands, thankfully that he'd had the right mind to actually put on a pair of shorts before going back to bed. "I'll get you cleaned up."

Sniffling noisily, she curls her entire hand around two of his fingers as they head out of the room.

He gives her a quick bath, a fresh change of pyjamas and then takes her downstairs with him to throw the dirty laundry in the wash. Not asking any questions; knowing from experience that when she's ready to tell him about the dream, she will. Instead he makes her a bowl of oatmeal- her favourite comfort food- and they sit in the dark living room with the tv on but the volume on mute. And when she's placated and calm once again, she tucks herself under his arm and cuddles into him; head against his ribs, a hand resting on his stomach. And he's contemplating whether to pick her up and carry her upstairs or if they should just stay where they are when she finally speaks.

"I'm sorry, daddy."

"For what?"

"For making a mess in my bed."

"It's okay," he assures her, and drops a kiss on the top of her head. "We got it all cleaned up. No worries. Things happen."

"It was a scary dream," she sounds as if she may cry again, and he tightens his hold on her. "Really, really, really scary."

"What was it about? Do you remember?"

"It was about you. You went away. Only this time you didn't come back," the tears start again, her entire body shaking with the force of them. And he picks her up and settles her against his chest; her stomach pressed against him, her head on his shoulder, both of her arms circling his neck.

"It's okay," he nuzzles her forehead with his nose, rubs her back in slow, smooth circles. "It was just a dream. Just a bad dream."

"The bad guys got to you and they hurt you and you never came home," she continues through her sobs. "And mommy was crying really bad. She was so sad because she missed you so much. And I cried too. I cried a lot."

"Shhh," he strokes her hair. "It's okay. Try to calm down, okay? It was just a bad dream. I'm right here. I'm right here and I'm fine."

"What if the bad guys come after you? What if they come here to find you?"

"Millie, what bad guys? What are you talking about? What…?"

"I know what your job is, daddy. I know that you go and help people. That you get them away from bad guys."

He frowns. "Who told you that? Was it mommy?"

"No," she sniffles. "It was Ovi. I asked him what your job was, and he says that you rescue people. From bad guys."

Tyler sighs heavily. And makes a mental note to kick the kid's ass.

"What if they come here? I don't want the bad guys coming here."

"They won't," he promises. "The bad guys don't know where I am. I always make sure of that. I always make sure they have no idea who I am or where I live. So they can't find me. So they can't find you and your brothers and your mommy. No one is going to come here."

"You promise?"

"I promise. And when have I ever broken a promise to you?"

"Never."

"Everything's fine. There are no bad guys coming to find me. You guys are safe, okay? There's nothing to worry about. Are you ready to go back upstairs?"

"Can I sleep with you and mommy? In the big bed?"

"Are you going to snore and hog all the covers?"

"No," she giggles, and tightens her hold around his neck as he stands up, an arm across the small of her back to keep her in place. "You're strong, daddy," she says, as he climbs the stairs, floorboards creaking noisily on under his feet. "You've got big muscles."

"It's why your mom married me. The big muscles. And because I'm tall and I can reach the things on the high shelves."

"I'm going to get married one day. And have twelve kids."

He scowls. "I think I just aged fifteen years hearing you say that."

Mac lifts his head as they step into the room. Ears back, eyes wide. Tail wagging when he sees his favourite little human.

"Cuddle up to mommy," Tyler says, as he places his daughter in the bed. "Don't wake her up. Just cuddle up to her."

Millie does as she's told, pushing herself across the bed and burying her face into her mother's back.

He climbs in next to her, covering them both with the thick duvet and lying down on his side; arm stretched across both of them, his hand resting on his wife's hip.

She stirs. Her voice barely above a whisper. "Tyler? Is everything okay? What…?"

"Millie had a bad dream," he explains. "She's here with us."

"A bad dream? What? She hasn't had one of those in forever."

"Go back to sleep. She's fine. It just scared the hell out of her. Try to go back to sleep," he settles his cheek against his pillow and rubs her hip in slow, smooth circles. Until her breathing settles and evens out and he's pretty sure she's nodded off again.

And no matter how hard he tries, he can't follow suit. Awake and on alert until the sun begins poking over the horizon.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: SMUT. NSFW.

She straddles his lower back as he lays on his stomach in the middle of their bed; her fingers pressing into the tight and aching muscles in his right shoulder. The pain is moderate to severe tonight. A dull ache that starts in the base of his neck and travels the entire length of his arm, throbbing in the elbow and pins and needles in the fingers. Scar tissue from the various surgeries he'd needed after Dhaka wrapping and twisting around ligaments and nerves and causing on going issues. The worst is his right shoulder; a reconstructive surgery to piece everything back together repeated shoulder separations had led to increased mobility issues. The scar running over both the front and back deltoid muscles and along the top of his shoulder to the nape of his neck. Surgeons had been able to save and improve mobility but had warned that there'd be permanent and progressive consequences, tightening and shortening of muscles and ligaments, bursitis, arthritis. The list went on. Long term physio, massage, drugs. Umpteen things prescribed or suggested that made him feel a hell of a lot older than his forty years.

"Ovi wants to bring that girl over tomorrow," Esme says, as she uses both thumbs to get into that tough spot right under his shoulder blade.

In the last five years she's grown accustomed to every inch of his body; whether it be providing relief for therapy for painful joints in muscles or when they made love. Those fingers acquainting themselves with every muscle, memorizing the way they twisted and bulged, how they moved under her touch. She knew every spot that either ached or turn him on, able to intricately trace the outline of every tattoo and scar. There was a time where the memories those scars held were too painful to relive; she couldn't see them, let alone touch them, without being reminded of the horrific events in Dhaka. Now the trauma had subsided, and she no longer had to look away or pull her hands back. The events were still fresh in her mind, but she was able to block them out. There was something bittersweet about those scars now. The ones that he'd gained while in Dhaka. A reminder of how she'd almost lost him but how he'd fought back and they'd both been given a second chance.

"Why?" Tyler asks, both forearms under the pillow his cheek rests against.

"I guess he thinks this is going to be something long term and serious and he wants us to meet her. He seems pretty crazy about her. I don't remember him being this bad over any of the girls he dated in high school."

"I wonder if he's going to cough up his V card sooner rather than later."

"You have an unsettling obsession with his virginity," she teases, and he turns his face into the middle and lets loose a string of profanity when she gets up under the shoulder blade and presses a hard as she can. His entire body going rigid; toes digging into the mattress. "And no," she says, as she releases the pressure. "That was not meant as punishment for said virginity obsession."

"It's not an obsession," he lifts his head from the pillow and removes one arm from under it, resting his chin on it. A pained grimace on his face, sweat beading across his forehead and gathering at his hairline and temples. "I'm just curious. She's an older woman, he's a virgin. He's lucky when you think about it. She's probably got all kinds of experience."

"Or she could be relatively inexperienced like I was when we first met."

"The things you knew how to do and you were comfortable letting me do? You weren't that inexperienced."

"You are the third and the last. Three guys? That's not a lot."

"Well the other two must have been really good teachers. I should send them thank you cards. Fuck," he groans, as she runs her knuckles along the entire length of his right shoulder blade. "You're savage for a little thing."

"How do you know it wasn't you who the good teacher?" she suggests. "I mean, there wasn't else much to do for those five days and you are blessed with an incredible amount of patience and stamina. How do you know I didn't just let you do all the work and show me how things are done?"

"Because I was there and I know that isn't true. There were things you knew and that you did willingly and I never even had to say a word."

"Maybe you're just so hot I said 'fuck it. I'll let him do whatever he wants'."

"Well, you did let me go where no other man has ever gone before. After only three days. So…"

"You really are a fifteen-year-old with raging hormones stuck in a grown man's body," she chides. "So you think he will? Cough it up to this girl?"

"I wouldn't blame him if he did. What guy wouldn't take it if it's right there staring him in the face? I don't know why we have to meet her though. Can't he just fuck her and leave us out of it?"

"I don't think this is strictly a having someone to fuck situation. I think he's actually really into her. Haven't you noticed the way his entire face lights up when he talks about her?" Her fingers and thumbs move up to the top of his shoulder, firmly pressing along the scar.

"You honestly don't think I pay attention to that kind of shit do you? I'm a guy. Guys do not pay attention to that kind of stuff."

"He's totally crazy about her. It's so obvious. Pay attention next time. I'll ask about her tomorrow at breakfast. Just watch how he reacts. What he does with his face. You do it sometimes too. When you look at me."

"Am I drunk when I do it?"

"I'm going to seriously smother in you sleep. Don't be such a smart ass. I know you hate talking about feelings and all that sappy stuff. But I know you feel that stuff. You don't have to admit it, baby. I know you better than you know yourself sometimes."

It's true. There were times she could just look at him and know what he was thinking or feelings. Easily finishing his sentences. Or giving words to the thoughts in his mind that he couldn't find an adequate way to express.

"I still don't understand why we have to meet her," he says, forehead against the pillow, teeth digging into his bottom lip as she narrows in on the troublesome spot on the base of his neck.

"Because he wants us to. Because we're his family and he wants her to meet his family."

"It's going be weird explaining all of that. I hope he's not going to throw me under the bus and leave it to me to answer her questions."

"Just tell her what we've told everyone else who asks," her hands move down onto his spine, pressing into each vertebra. "His parents were friends of ours who died in a car accident and we were named his guardians in their will."

"That story isn't going to hold up forever. One day or another, the truth will come out. It always does."

'Well don't let her be the one you tell it to. The last thing we need is to traumatize her and have her sue us for emotional pain and suffering. Can you imagine hearing a story like that? It sounds screwed up to me and I lived it. Imagine how messed up it would be to her? We'll just have a nice quiet dinner like a normal family."

"Like we're normal. Have you met our kids?"

"Good point. Your spawns do have a tendency to get a little rowdy."

"My spawns," he snorts. "Because I'm the only one responsible for why they're here."

"You had your five minutes of fun, didn't you?"

"You and I have very different experiences of the times our kids were conceived. Were you even in the room when it happened? Because five minutes? Times that by like twenty."

"Oh, you wish! You may have the stamina of a God but that's even too much for you. I love you and you're a great fuck, but let's be realistic."

"Better than your ex?"

She laughs. "You've been wondering that all day, haven't you?"

"Not all day but…" he closes his eyes and inhales sharply when she finally reaches the tailbone. Applying pressure as her hands move across the small of his back and over to his hips. "…I did think about it."

"I can't believe you'd even think it was a valid question. You are way at the head of the line on the best lover list. Second place is way back there. And it isn't him, so…" she leans sideways to grab the bottle of pain relief cream lying on the mattress beside him. Grimacing when she opens the lid and sniffs. "…do I seriously have to sleep in the same room as you tonight? How offended would you be if I told you to sleep on the couch?"

"Very fucking offended."

"This is not a smell I want next to me all night," she holds the bottle up to his nose, and he coughs and gags. "Almost as bad as that sewer back in Dhaka."

"Nothing will ever be as bad as that sewer back in Dhaka. But that does smell like shit. Just leave it."

"The doctor said it's the best one to use."

"Who cares. I'll put it on after you fall asleep. Then I'll put a clothespin over your nose so you won't wake up when the smell hits you."

"You're very stubborn," she says.

"You tell me that every day at least five times a day. And that's every day for the last five years."

"So then stop being an enormous pain in my ass."

"Never," he declares. "Get up for a second."

She pushes herself up onto her knees, allowing him to roll onto his back. "You okay?" she asks, noticing the grimace on his face.

"Fine. I'm fine," he places his hands on her hips and settles her back down on his stomach. "Thank you, babe. That feels a lot better."

"I don't ever want to hear you say I never do anything nice for you," she teases, as she leans down to kiss him and then settles her face in between his neck and his shoulder. A hand coming up to comb through the longer strands of his hair as he wraps both arms around her.

"So you're being serious?" he asks after several minutes. "About this list of yours?"

"You can not be serious right now."

"I'm just curious. You said you had a list and that I was first on it."

"Are you honestly self conscious over my ex? Really? You of all people? You're the last guy I'd ever expect that from."

"I'm not being self conscious. I'm just curious."

"Baby, you are at the top of every list I've had since I was sixteen and I first started dating."

"Are these lists written down somewhere or…"

"Tyler…seriously…" she laughs against the side of his throat. "…you have absolutely nothing to be self conscious about. You are in an entirely different league than my ex in every possible way. It's the man versus the boys. Let's leave it at that. There isn't any other man like you out there. I promise."

That answer seems to satisfy him, and he drops a kiss on the top of her head.

****

'What about your lists?" she inquires.

"I don't have lists. I don't do weird shit like that."

"It doesn't mean you don't keep mental notes. Where would I be on your list?"

"I already told you. You give the best head I've ever had. I would have travelled from Australia to Colorado just for that."

"What about the other stuff?"

"What other stuff?"

She sighs in exasperation.

"What do you want me to say? That you're the best I've ever had and I've totally forgotten about every other woman that came before you?"

"I swear to God if you put me at the bottom of the list…"

Tyler laughs, and wrapping an arm around her waist, sits up and effortlessly tosses her down onto her back. "There is no list. I don't think about things like that. I just know that you give the best head I've ever had and sex with you is incredible. Every time. I don't compare it to other people. Why do I need to? None of them matter any more."

"You're being very diplomatic about this," she frowns, but then sighs when his lips find the side of her neck.

His beard is rough against her skin, his breath warm, lips and tongue moist as they travel along her jaw and move up to her ear. His hand heavy on her stomach; pushing up the bottom of her simple tank top to expose an inch of flesh, fingertips gliding across her skin. And she shivers when the tip of his tongue traces the outer edge of her ear and his teeth gently sink into the lobe.

"What about Nik?" she asks.

"Who's Nik?"

"I'm being serious," she grabs a hold of his hair and yanks his head back, so he's looking at her. "What about her? Am I at least better than her?"

"Who am I married to?"

"You had a chance to marry her? What…?"

"Stop…" he kisses her, chuckling against her lips. "…there is no one else but you. No one else I ever think about. There's no one else I want other than you. So please…" he resumes the teasing and the torturing on her ear and her neck. "…stop…"

She opens her mouth to speak, then clamps it shut when his fingers make short work of the small bow holding tight the waist band of her bottoms. His mouth covering hers in a deep, hungry kiss as his hand slides down the front of her pyjama pants and dips between her legs. One hand in his hair and the other tightly gripping his shoulder as his tongue pushing its way past her teeth and seeking out hers. The kiss is desperate. Hungry. Needy. And she cries out into his mouth when he slips two fingers inside of her.

"Are you going to stop asking me questions now?" he asks, as he pulls back to study her face. Her pupils wide, her face flushed, hair falling across her forehead. "No more questions?"

She shakes her head, then lifts her head to kiss him. She curls an arm around his neck and pulls him into her; his free hand moving to support his weight, palm down on the mattress. Arching her back and pressing her hips flush against his palm as his fingers move inside of her. Slow, deep strokes that has all of her nerve endings on fire.

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he watches her. The way her eyes darken and her breathing picks up pace; hips rising and falling to match every move that his fingers make. Bringing his thumb in contact with her clit, softly rubbing at the hardened nub until she's got a hold of his hair once again and she's yanking him down into another kiss. Effectively muffling the noises that come tumbling out of her mouth.

He continues to kiss her; soft, gentle pecks interspersed with longer moments of closed mouth upon closed mouth. Waiting until her body stops shuddering and her breath returns to normal before removing his hand between her legs. Eyes locked on hers as he licks her fluid off of his fingers.

"You're evil," she declares.

"In the best possible ways, yeah?"

She nods and reaches for him, a hand cupping his erection through his boxer briefs. Long and hot and hard underneath that cool, smooth cotton. The tip of her tongue sliding along her lower lip as she strokes him through the fabric, her grip tight, applying just the right amount of pressure. Until he's swallowing noisily and his own breathing picks up his pace. Frowning when he suddenly pushes her hand away and then leans across the bed to grab a condom from the nightstand.

"No," she says, as she takes hold of his wrist. "Don't. Let's have a baby, Tyler. One more."

"You're sure?"

She nods. "But I swear to God, if your super sperm does something crazy like another set of twins or worse, triplets, you won't have to worry about a vasectomy because I will use a kitchen knife to cut your dick off myself. You're a little too good at making babies."

"Maybe," he grins, as he sits back on his heels and grabbing a hold of her hips, pulls her towards him. "But they're beautiful babies."

She smiles. "They are. We did good, didn't we."

"Yeah. We did. We did real good."

"Maybe the last one will be a girl," she muses. "There's way too much testosterone in this house."

"Maybe," he says, and hooks his fingers in the waist band over her pants and yanks them down in one swift movement. Batting her foot out of the way when she presses it against his crotch, toes rubbing against his cock. Placing a hand on either side of her head as he leans down to kiss her, capturing her bottom lip between his teeth before pushing his tongue into her mouth.

Her hands reach for the elastic band on his shorts and she hastily pushes them down over his hips and his ass. And he never breaks the kiss as one hand reaches behind him to shove the fabric down past his knees. Feeling her shudder against him and gasp into his mouth when he slips inside of her; groaning deep in his throat as he bottoms out inside of her.

"Fuck…" he breathes, forehead resting against hers. "…you feel so good. You always feel so good."

She raises her head to kiss him; a brief peck on the lips before her mouth moves across his jaw and down onto his throat. Tongue travelling over the scar that serves as a permanent memory of when he'd nearly lost his life. Hands sliding across his shoulders and down onto his back, nails pressing into his flesh and breaking the skin as he moves inside of her. Long, smooth strokes that fill her completely.

No other man has ever been able to do the things he does. Or make her feel the way he can. The way he looks down at her with so much love and adoration in his eyes. The way each movement and each kiss lets her know just how worshipped she really is. His gaze never wavering; those blue eyes locked on hers, as if they're burrowing into her very soul.

"I love you," she breathes. "I love you so much."

"I know," he smiles. "I love you too."

"Put a baby in me, Tyler. Put your baby in me."

He blinks at both the honesty and power that comes with those words. And then it is as if every last shred of patience and resolve shatters. Slow love making turning frantic and aggressive, those large hands flipping her over onto her stomach and forcing her up onto her knees, slamming into her with brutal force. One hand on her hip and the other gripping the headboard as he furiously pounds into her. Surprised at how well she has always taken him. Even five years ago in that dirty Dhaka hotel room when he'd lost complete and utter control for the first time.

He reaches around to find her clit; stroking it as he drives into her again and again until she's burying her face into a pillow to muffle her cries, his name repeatedly leaving her lips.

"Tell me when you're going to come," he says, as he drops his hand from the headboard and grabs her hair, yanking her head back, lips feasting on her neck. "Tell me."

"I'm close…" she manages between ragged gasps. "…so close…"

He pulls her to her knees, so her back is pressed against his front; her hands reaching back to grab at his hair.

"Tell me," he growls, and increases the pressure of his fingers. "Tell me."

"Tyler…" she can barely get his name out. "…fuck…Tyler…"

"I want you to come," he orders, and then removes his hand from between her legs and reaches between them to slip two fingers up her ass.

That's all it takes. Her head falling back against him, his free hand clamping down over her mouth in order to hide the scream; sis name, profanities, unintelligible nonsense he can't even begin to comprehend. And with two hard, strong stroke he's coming as well; a long, loud groan erupting from somewhere deep inside his chest. And he wraps his arm around her waist to hold her painfully tight against him; making sure that not one drop of his cum manages to trickle out of her.

His trembling legs give out; vision white as he collapses onto his back, chest heaving as he attempts to regain some control over his senses. And he feels her move against him; the soft brush of her skin against his, her lips pressing a series of kisses across his chest and collarbone. Blindly he reaches for her, a hand falling on the back of her neck and bringing her head down to his shoulder.

They lay like that. Cool breeze tumbling through the window and washing over their spent and sweaty bodies. Until she shivers against him and he sits up and reaches for the comforter at the end of the bed. Draping it over both of them as he once more gathers her in his arms and pulls her tight against him.

*****

He awakens to tiny hands incessantly shaking him. Torn out of a dead sleep by the sensation of someone clutching him by the bicep and yanking his arm back and forth with as much strength as a little body will muster. He'd been dreaming about Dhaka; a confusing mash up of all five days. From those moments in the dirty hotel room where greedy, hungry hands tore at clothes, to the early morning hours when he'd dropped her off at the extraction point before heading to meet with Ovi's captors, to when they'd hid out in the sewer and eventually found themselves rescued by Gaspar and brought to his house. The betrayal of one of his oldest friends. Ovi taking the man's life.

It was all mixed together. His brain unable to make any sense of it. And he'd just been about to set foot on that bridge when he'd been startled out of his sleep. It was a relief; he hasn't had a dream about Dhaka in nearly four years and it isn't exactly a time in his life that he wants to visit. But the anxiety and nerves he'd felt even in the dream had been vivid; his heart hammers in his chest and sweat gathers at his temples and across his brow. He almost snaps; stuck in that hazy space between sleep and consciousness. When your body isn't fully awake, but your nerves are firing on all cylinders. It is fight of flight at that point, and his system chooses fight; ready to reach out and grab hold of what his brain is telling him is a threat when that little voice manages to break through.

"Daddy…" a pitiful pleading, accompanied by more shaking. "Daddy…wake up…please wake up…"

His daughter stands at the side of the bed. Even in the moonlight he can see the tears that stream down her face. The way she struggles to draw in a breath.

"Millie…" he pushes himself up onto his elbow and reaches up to push her hair away from her face. "…what's going on? What's wrong?"

"I had a bad dream. I was really scared. I made a mess. In my bed."

She'd gone through a stage of horrible nightmares the first time he'd returned home from the job with a broken wrist, split lip, and busted nose. The bruises and the injuries had terrified her and had set off months of trauma and sleepless nights for everyone. And he'd spent weeks either curled up beside her in that tiny single bed or sleeping on the floor right next to it.

"It's okay," he swings his legs over the side of the bed, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and checking the time on his cell phone that sits charging on the nightstand. 2:33 am. He's groggy; a side effect of the pain medication that he'd taken only two hours before. It had been the first sleep disturbance of the night; the deep-rooted pain that starts in his shoulder and just seems to spread from head to toe. "Let's go," he stands, thankfully that he'd had the right mind to actually put on a pair of shorts before going back to bed. "I'll get you cleaned up."

Sniffling noisily, she curls her entire hand around two of his fingers as they head out of the room.

He gives her a quick bath, a fresh change of pyjamas and then takes her downstairs with him to throw the dirty laundry in the wash. Not asking any questions; knowing from experience that when she's ready to tell him about the dream, she will. Instead he makes her a bowl of oatmeal- her favourite comfort food- and they sit in the dark living room with the tv on but the volume on mute. And when she's placated and calm once again, she tucks herself under his arm and cuddles into him; head against his ribs, a hand resting on his stomach. And he's contemplating whether to pick her up and carry her upstairs or if they should just stay where they are when she finally speaks.

"I'm sorry, daddy."

"For what?"

"For making a mess in my bed."

"It's okay," he assures her, and drops a kiss on the top of her head. "We got it all cleaned up. No worries. Things happen."

"It was a scary dream," she sounds as if she may cry again, and he tightens his hold on her. "Really, really, really scary."

"What was it about? Do you remember?"

"It was about you. You went away. Only this time you didn't come back," the tears start again, her entire body shaking with the force of them. And he picks her up and settles her against his chest; her stomach pressed against him, her head on his shoulder, both of her arms circling his neck.

"It's okay," he nuzzles her forehead with his nose, rubs her back in slow, smooth circles. "It was just a dream. Just a bad dream."

"The bad guys got to you and they hurt you and you never came home," she continues through her sobs. "And mommy was crying really bad. She was so sad because she missed you so much. And I cried too. I cried a lot."

"Shhh," he strokes her hair. "It's okay. Try to calm down, okay? It was just a bad dream. I'm right here. I'm right here and I'm fine."

"What if the bad guys come after you? What if they come here to find you?"

"Millie, what bad guys? What are you talking about? What…?"

"I know what your job is, daddy. I know that you go and help people. That you get them away from bad guys."

He frowns. "Who told you that? Was it mommy?"

"No," she sniffles. "It was Ovi. I asked him what your job was, and he says that you rescue people. From bad guys."

Tyler sighs heavily. And makes a mental note to kick the kid's ass.

"What if they come here? I don't want the bad guys coming here."

"They won't," he promises. "The bad guys don't know where I am. I always make sure of that. I always make sure they have no idea who I am or where I live. So they can't find me. So they can't find you and your brothers and your mommy. No one is going to come here."

"You promise?"

"I promise. And when have I ever broken a promise to you?"

"Never."

"Everything's fine. There are no bad guys coming to find me. You guys are safe, okay? There's nothing to worry about. Are you ready to go back upstairs?"

"Can I sleep with you and mommy? In the big bed?"

"Are you going to snore and hog all the covers?"

"No," she giggles, and tightens her hold around his neck as he stands up, an arm across the small of her back to keep her in place. "You're strong, daddy," she says, as he climbs the stairs, floorboards creaking noisily on under his feet. "You've got big muscles."

"It's why your mom married me. The big muscles. And because I'm tall and I can reach the things on the high shelves."

"I'm going to get married one day. And have twelve kids."

He scowls. "I think I just aged fifteen years hearing you say that."

Mac lifts his head as they step into the room. Ears back, eyes wide. Tail wagging when he sees his favourite little human.

"Cuddle up to mommy," Tyler says, as he places his daughter in the bed. "Don't wake her up. Just cuddle up to her."

Millie does as she's told, pushing herself across the bed and burying her face into her mother's back.

He climbs in next to her, covering them both with the thick duvet and lying down on his side; arm stretched across both of them, his hand resting on his wife's hip.

She stirs. Her voice barely above a whisper. "Tyler? Is everything okay? What…?"

"Millie had a bad dream," he explains. "She's here with us."

"A bad dream? What? She hasn't had one of those in forever."

"Go back to sleep. She's fine. It just scared the hell out of her. Try to go back to sleep," he settles his cheek against his pillow and rubs her hip in slow, smooth circles. Until her breathing settles and evens out and he's pretty sure she's nodded off again.

And no matter how hard he tries, he can't follow suit. Awake and on alert until the sun begins poking over the horizon.


	11. Chapter 11

"In all fairness," Esme says with a yawn, as she lays in the middle of their rumpled bed. "I don't think Ovi meant to cause problems."

It's seven thirty in the morning and the house remains in peaceful slumber; unusual, as all of the kids are usually up and causing chaos at the crack of dawn. The baby is at the breast; suckling sleepily and contently, while Millie is tucked into her side; snoring lightly, a thumb in her mouth. A bad habit she'd managed to break before starting kindergarten but always reverted back to in times of stress.

"He just should have kept his goddamn mouth shut," Tyler grumbles, as he pulls on a pair of baggy and weathered jeans, doing up the zipper and button before attending to his belt.

"Well she did ask," his wife attempts to reason, watching him as he dresses, eyes feasting on those broad shoulders and wide back; his skin a canvas for the bulging, rippling muscles, tattoos, scars, and now bright red and brutal looking scratch marks caused by her nails. "She wanted to know why you go away so much. She's five and curious. Not to mention she misses you like crazy when you're gone."

It's hard on all of them, but it's especially difficult for the little five-year-old that thinks the sun rises and sets on her father. In her mind there's nothing he can't do. No promise big or small that can't keep or no problem he can't fix. And when he's gone she's heartbroken; refusing to sleep in her own bed and choosing to stay with her mother, sleeping on his pillow, wanting to cuddle up to one of his dirty shirts so she can smell him. When he calls or video chats, she's the first and the last he talks to. Then spends hours in tears after he disconnects.

"It's way too early for a guilt trip," he says, and pulls a simple white t-shirt over his head.

"That's not what I was doing and you know it. When have I ever guilt tripped you over making the decision you did? And I mean an intentional guilt trip."

It would have been so easy for her to do. He knows that. He'd made the decision without her and had even talked to Nik about getting back into the game before he mentioned it to his own wife. It should have been talked about. She should have at least had a chance to argue her side against it instead of just feeling as if her hands were tied and her opinion or her fears and worries didn't matter. In many ways he still struggles to find a balance between the way he was before and his role as a husband and a father. He'd spent years only worrying about himself (and even that wasn't done well) and it wasn't an easy habit to break.

Yet not once has she ever intentionally made him feel guilty for going back on the job. He knew she was pissed. That she still is at times. Disappointed that he just couldn't walk away and make a clean break from it for the sake of her and their kids. But she still supported him. Never made him feel like a selfish fuck.

Even though he often felt that way about himself.

"At the hospital when you were having the twins," he says. "You lost your shit on me."

"I had been in labour for eighteen hours and you'd just gotten back from Croatia on the only flight you could find. And you were covered in dirt and blood and wearing fatigues and you looked like you'd just walked out of a war zone. The doctors and the nurses wondered what the hell had happened to you. Not to mention the epidural wouldn't take. You can't take anything seriously I said at that point. I was just pissed at you because I was in bloody agony. And because of your weak as fuck pull out game."

He smirks at that.

"She asked him, Tyler. She wanted to know why you leave so much and where you go. What was he supposed to say?"

"He could have said anything. He could have made up any kind of bullshit. He didn't have to tell her that."

"Didn't have to tell her what? The truth? Because that's all he did. And it's not like he went into all the gory and brutal details. All he told her is that when people need help, you go and help them. You get them away from bad guys. Because that is exactly what you do."

"But it's not all I do."

"She doesn't need to know that part. She doesn't need to know how capable you are of hurting people. Of killing people. All she wanted to know is what you do and where you go. Ovi explained the best he could. It was better than lying to her and then her being totally pissed when she's older and finds out the truth. She thinks you're a superhero."

He sighs, sitting at the end of the bed as he straps on his watch. "I'm no hero. Especially not a super one."

"Oh I don't know about that," she stretches out her leg and rubs the tips of her toes against the small of his back. "You're built like one. Not to mention sexy as hell. Aren't most superhero's sexy? So you fit most of the categories."

He reaches around to grab her foot; massaging softly as he winks at her over his shoulder.

"The people you help think you're a hero," she says. "So do their families. So does your daughter. And so do I."

He doesn't deserve that kind of praise. At least not in his own mind. While it may be physically easy to inflict pain and even death on those deemed to deserve it, it was difficult…mentally speaking…to take a life. After the adrenaline wore off and you were able to register both what happened and that you were still alive, reality would set in. And he'd be covered in someone else's blood and God knows what else and he'd think about how he'd just killed someone else's family member. Someone's son. Brother. Uncle. Friend. Maybe even someone's husband and father.

He did what he did out of necessity. Not pride.

He stands, running a hand over his weary face and then raking his fingers through his damp hair. Collecting his wallet and sunglasses of the nightstand on his side of the bed, sliding the former into the back pocket of his jeans.

"Please tell me you'll be home by the time Ovi's girlfriend…or whatever the hell she is…gets here. If you abandon me and leave me to deal with this by myself…"

He leans over the bed to kiss her. "If I'm not home in a few hours, just assume your mother somehow managed to kill me and has hidden the body somewhere you'll never find it."

"Thank you, for doing this for me. I know it isn't easy for you."

"There's nothing I wouldn't do for you. You know that." He kisses her again, a finger hooked under her chin, tilting her face up towards his. "I love you." Those words had never come easily to him. Not until he'd met her. Now he says them as often as he can. Just in case.

She smiles. "I love you too. Try not to let her get to you. Easier said than done, I know. But I'm sure she's going to try to bait you into lashing out. Just so she can paint you as the bad guy."

"I can handle her," he assures her, then leans down to drop a kiss on Millie's head and then the baby's.

"Call when you get there," she says as he heads for the door. "Just so I know you got there safe and sound."

"You're turning soft on me in your old age," he teases, running a hand over her hair and giving her one last kiss.

"Maybe I just like knowing you're okay. I can't control what goes on thousands of miles away, but I feel like I can when it's forty-five minutes."

He's the same. Always wanting to know if she got somewhere safe and sound. Life was way too short not to remind the people you love just how much you actually do care about them. And sometimes that love comes out in different ways; verbally, gestures of appreciation and affection, making sure they check in so you know they're okay.

"Check on the boys," she suggests before he slips out of the room.

"I will," he promises, and gives her a wink before stepping out into the hallway.

******

His mother in law answers on the third knock; eyes glassy and cheeks flushed. And he can smell the booze on her when she gives him a stiff and awkward one-armed hug. Even this small gesture of affection is out of character for her; she was more apt to punch him in the throat or kick him in the nuts than give him any sort of hug. It takes him by surprise; brain needing a few months to register just what the hell is happening. Slowly and a bit reluctantly bringing his hand up to settle in the middle of her shoulder blades.

"It's good to see you," her voice is slightly slurred and she's a little uneasy on her feet as she lays a hand on his arm, both steadying herself and guiding him towards the hall that leads to the kitchen. "Esme is right. You do smell really good."

He smirks, toeing off his boots, hoping he doesn't come across as rude when he gently removes his arm from his grasp and then gestures for her to go first. Being drunk doesn't make up for all the things she's said and done while sober. He doesn't give a shit about her opinion on him; he's heard worse from better. But he's been in her company when she's tried gaslighting her own daughter and has heard the abuse she's lumped on Esme for years. He tries to remind himself that he's here for his wife. For his kids. When his mother in law had left a voice message on his cell asking him to come to the house for a 'chat', he'd been leery about her attentions.

But he'd seen the way Esme's face had brightened at the thought of them actually burying the hatchet and he didn't have the heart to let her down.

So here he is. Just shy of ten in the morning. Following behind his already inebriated mother in law. He remembers those days; drunk off his ass by noon hour. Back then it hadn't mattered; he'd had fuck all to live for and was very close to just putting a bullet in his own head. Now when he thinks back on it, he realizes just how pathetic it was. And he's determined to never get that far into the booze again.

"Do you want a drink?" she asks, as she motions for him to sit down at the kitchen table. It's cluttered; days worth of newspapers and unopened bills. The counters are in a similar state; a sink full of unwashed dishes and empty and half empty bottles of liquor and wine littering every available space.

"It's ten in the morning," Tyler points out, and he removes his sunglasses from his eyes and his cell phone from his pocket and places both on the table. "Don't you think it's a little too early for that?"

She ignores him and moves to pour herself another drink, then starts up the coffee maker.

"Where's Sarge?"

Everyone calls Esme's stepfather that. When they'd first met, he'd attempted to call man by his first name and was quickly corrected. He was a good guy, tall and broad with a head full of thick white hair and a handlebar moustache. Posture rigid and proud as if he were still serving in the military. And other than Esme's younger sister Riley, he'd been the only one that had welcomed Tyler into their family with open arms.

"On one of his boy trips to Vegas," she sighs. "And we all know what goes on in Vegas."

Tyler has never been there himself, but according to Esme, it means that her stepdad and the boys go around fucking random women and spending their money on three things: booze, gambling, and strippers.

"We're having troubles," she admits.

"Sorry to hear that."

He's not really. Far from it. There's a feeling of vindication that surges through him at the mere thought that the woman who'd been badgering her daughter about her decision to stay in Australia with some 'random fuck' (as her mother called him), was now being served a nice dose of karma. That all those times she's been on Esme's ass about an unwanted and unplanned first pregnancy and a hasty marriage, were coming back to haunt her.

He wants to ask her how that slice of 'shut the fuck up pie' tastes. But he doesn't. Reminding himself yet again that he's there for his wife and his kids. To be the bigger person. To make the visits and the holidays at least tolerable.

"Black, no sugar, right?" she inquires, pausing before pouring the fresh brew into a mug.

"Yeah. Thanks," he manages a small pleasant smile in appreciation and accepts the drink as she slips into the chair across from him.

The next few minutes pass by excruciating slow; no sound other than the soft hum of the fridge and slight dripping off the kitchen tap. And she nurses her drink while he runs his palm along the side of the porcelain mug, then taps it against the side, wedding band making a soft clinking noise.

"What am I.." he attempts.

"So I guess…" she speaks at the same time, then laughs. "You go ahead."

"It's your home."

"Visitors first," she insists.

"I was just going to ask what I'm doing here. I'm normally the last person you like to see darkening your doorstep. I was surprised when you called."

"I thought that you and I needed to have a chat."

"About?"

"My daughter, mostly."

He nods. "You mean, my wife."

There was no need to say it. It was petty as fuck and Tyler knows it. But there's a sense of satisfaction at seeing the way that it bothers the woman. She can't handle the fact that that's exactly what he is. Her daughter's husband. The father of her grandkids. Five years and counting and she can't accept him. He's still a stranger to her. That random guy that had talked her daughter into his bed and never let her leave.

"I know your secret you know," her eyes are narrowed as she regards him.

He cocks his head to the side, smirk tugging at his lips. "You do, do you? And what secret is that?"

"I know what you're up to. I know why you go away so much. Why you're gone for so long."

He doubted it. But why not play along and see where it goes.

"And why's that?" he asks. "Why do I go away so much?"

"It isn't for a job. No one travels that much for a job. It's women. Other women. Not just one. Many. All over the damn place."

At first, he just stares at her. Trying to even comprehend the nonsense that is coming out of her mouth. He's made a lot of stupid decisions in his life and has been a complete and utter asshole while both drunk and sober, but one thing he wasn't was a cheater. And it wasn't for the lack of temptation. He simply isn't that kind of guy. The second he decided to pop the question, that was it. There would be no other women after her. Ever.

Finally he throws his head back and laughs. The mere idea so ridiculous that he can't help himself.

"Yeah, that's it," he agrees. "I have other women all over the world. I even have another family back in Australia. Eight kids. Your daughter knows all about them."

She frowns. "You can laugh all you want. But I know it's true."

"You don't know shit. There are no other women. There haven't been any other women since I met your daughter. I would never, ever cheat on Esme."

"I know men like you," she growls.

"Men like me? What kind of man am I?"

"Just look at you. You just look the type. The good looks and the muscles and…"

"Are you trying to pick me up? Because I hate to sound like an asshole, but you're not my type. And I'm not into a whole mother-daughter thing, so…"

"How many are there?" she presses. "How many other women are there?"

"You're actually being serious about this? You really think I'm cheating on your daughter?"

"I know you are."

"Like I said already, you know shit. I am not cheating on your daughter. I will never cheat on your daughter. She's my wife. The mother of my children. The last thing I would ever do is hurt her like that. I'd put a bullet in my brain before I'd ever hurt her. Or my kids. There are no other women. There's only her. I only want her. For the rest of my life."

She stares at him.

"I love your daughter. More than I ever thought I could love someone. She's my entire existence. Her and my kids. So don't sit here and insult me. I don't cheat. I'm not your husband."

She blinks at the harsh truth dumped in her lap.

"I know you hate me. I know you think I took your daughter away from you."

"You did."

"But she chose to stay. When I was in the hospital, she was the one that chose to stick around. I didn't even expect her to be there when I woke up. But she was. And you know what? That was the happiest fucking moment in my life when I opened my eyes and she was sitting there. Imagine almost dying and when you come to, that is the first thing you see? Someone that beautiful at your bedside? You have no idea what that felt like. To see her there. And to know she chose to be there."

"She's loyal," her mother agrees. "To a fault."

"Maybe. But she's also the most incredible woman I've ever met. And an amazing mother. You don't see her with those kids. How she is with them. She puts everything she has into raising them. She tries every day to be a better person, a better mother for them. Probably because she never had that herself."

"Excuse me, but what…"

"Don't bullshit yourself. You know it's the truth. You've spent the past thirty-five years shitting all over her. Making her feel horrible about herself, making her feel as if she doesn't measure up, that she disappointed you. You even stayed friends with her ex husband. Who's a fucking coward that likes to abuse women. You don't hate me because I took your daughter away. You hate me because I'm the only one that's ever defended her. Because you know you can't manipulate me."

She gives a small snort and takes a large gulp of her drink.

"I gave her the chance," Tyler continues. "After I woke up in the hospital and before anything went further between us. I told her that she could leave. That she didn't have to stick around. That she didn't have to feel obligated to be there. And you know what she did? She told me she loved me. And it didn't even matter that I didn't say it back right away. She was sticking around. I didn't force her to be there. Regardless of what you think."

"You got her pregnant," she hisses. "Of course she'd stay."

"We didn't know about the baby before I told her she could leave. That was three weeks later. And no, it wasn't planned. We should have been more careful. But Esme gave me a beautiful daughter. Millie is beautiful and she's smart and she's caring and she's everything that's good about me and everything that's good about Esme all rolled into one. She wasn't planned, but she wasn't unwanted. She's your granddaughter. How can you look at her and think she was an accident? How the fuck can you honestly think that?"

"I never said she was an accident."

"You were drunk last Christmas and told her to her face that her mommy and daddy made a mistake and that's why she's here. She was four years old. You broke her heart. A little girl. And not just any little girl. My little girl. That's pretty fucked up and I probably should have let your daughter beat your ass when she wanted to. But I didn't."

"I was drinking. If I'd been sober.."

"Please. You've said some pretty messed up shit about your own kid when you've been sober so don't play that shit with me. You really want to know where I go and why I'm gone for so long? How I ended up in the hospital all torn up to shit? You really want to know?"

She stares at him.

"Because I'll tell you. I will tell you the honest to God's truth if you want to know. You won't like what you'll hear, but I will tell you. Is that what you want?"

She nods.

*****

He takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly. Clears his throat noisily. "I'm a mercenary," he says, and he watches the way her eyes widen and her brows shoot up. "I was a mercenary when I met Esme. It's how we met. She was involved with the same people I worked for. That I still work for."

"What?" she laughs incredulously. "Esme? My Esme?"

"She was an intel person. She was the one that would that go into a place and trick people into telling her everything that we needed to know. Names, places. That sort of thing. And she was good at it. No, she was fucking great at it. And that's how we met. My boss put us together and sent us to Bangladesh. Dhaka."

She swallows the remains of her drink, then gets up to pour another.

"We were sent there because one drug lord took another drug lord's kid and my boss was having a hard time getting information. So we had to pretend that we were married. Newlyweds doing missionary work. She was there to get the info, I was there to protect her. After that, I was the one in charge of getting the kid out."

"Ovi." It's a statement. Not a question.

Tyler nods. "Things went to shit. Everything blew up in our face. I almost died. On a bridge there. When I was shot in the throat. There were other injuries too. Tons of them. It's how I ended up in the hospital for as long as I was. I was this close…" he holds his thumb and forefinger a hairs width apart. "…to dying on that bridge. And the only reason I didn't? The only thing that kept me hanging on? Your daughter. So don't you ever question my love or my loyalty to her ever again."

She leans back in her chair, hands tightly clasping her drink.

"That's a lot to hear, I know. But it's the truth. That's what happened. That's who I am. Who I really am. I get sent places to help people. I get paid to go into god awful shitty messes to fix things. And sometimes, things go wrong and I get the shit kicked out of me. Or I get stabbed. Or shot. But I always come home. To my wife and my kids. So no…" he sips his coffee. "…I am not cheating on your daughter. Although right now I bet you wish I was instead of hearing all this other crap."

Silence. Even longer and more tedious than the first one. And he sits back in his chair and slowly sips the coffee. Waiting for her to finally come to terms with all the information that she's just been given.

"But why?" she asks at last. "After everything you went through…after almost dying…why would you still do it?"

"Because the money is good," he admits. "And I'm good at it. Damn good. It's what I do."

"Well that's pretty fucking selfish don't you think? A job like that when you have a wife and kids at home?"

"Maybe. But your daughter accepts it. She supports me. I do what I have to do for my family. Even if it means killing people."

"And Esme is okay with that? With you…killing people?"

"Your daughter was in the Marines. She specialized in weapons and ammunition. You really don't think her hands are entirely clean, do you?"

"No…I just…I…" she stumbles over her words. "…I guess I never thought about what she was actually doing when she was overseas. And now you're telling me she was a mercenary and…"

"She wasn't. That wasn't her job. Her job was to gather intel. That's it."

"It's your job to kill people."

"I kill them if I have to. Sometimes there's no other choice."

"But what about your children? What do you tell them? What…?"

"They have no clue what is going on. Millie sort of does. She asked Ovi why I go away so much and what I do when I'm away. He just told her that I help people get away from bad guys. They're young. They don't need to know anything more than that. And I hope you can respect that. That you can respect your daughter enough not to say anything. To them. To anyone."

"I can't even wrap my head around all of this," she admits. "This is all just so crazy. I'm sitting across the table from a killer. A hired killer."

"I don't just kill people. That's not all there is to it. It just has to happen sometimes. I'm asking you for a favour here. I'm asking you not to say anything to the kids. To anyone else in the family. This goes no further than the two of us. The less people who know, the better. Trust me."

"I won't breathe a word of this to anyone," she promises. "And even if I did, no one would believe me. This is just all so…insane."

"It's wee bit crazy," he agrees, and then checks his cell phone as it vibrates against the table.

"Esme?"

"Yeah, the kids always get her to send me pictures," he smiles at the one currently on the screen: the twins helping feed the chickens. And he holds the cell out, screen towards her. "They like to help. They love being outside. Love to help their mom out."

For a few minutes they're able to put their differences aside -and she's able to forget about the booze- as he shows her the various, most recent pictures in his room. Including the one that Esme had sent him of himself, Millie, and the twins sleeping on the hammock.

"Do you ever think about taking them to your home?" she asks curiously. "You're home, home. Where you're from."

"Sometimes I think about it, I guess. About how much they'd like it. All the beaches and the water. And it would be nice to take them. At least for a visit. Just to let them see where I grew up. Maybe even meet their grandfather. That's up in the air. He isn't exactly the grandfather type. He wasn't even the father type, so it shouldn't surprise me that grandkids aren't important to him."

"Esme said that they two of you aren't close. That's sad."

"It is what it is. We haven't been close in a long time. Since my mother died. Even before then things weren't great. He was there, but he wasn't there at the same time. Esme's told me a lot about her father. They were very close."

"Very," she confirms. "She was a daddy's girl. Daddy could do no wrong in her eyes. They were always together. He was always right by her side, supporting her every step of that way. He would have been proud of her. For joining the Corps. He would have been so proud," she clears her throat noisily as tears threaten. "He was a good man. A fantastic man. And a big piece of her died when he did. She was never the same. Never happy. Rarely smiled or laughed. That changed when you came along."

"It's all I want. For her to be happy. To make her happy."

"I saw it right away. That first night when the two of you got to Colorado. She was tired and she was hurting but she was happy. Every time she looked at you, every time you smiled at her, the way you spoke to her. I knew that you made her happy. And I could tell that she made you happy as well."

"She does. She came into my life when I didn't have anything to live for. She gave me a reason to keep going. Now I have four other reasons."

She smiles at that.

"There is nothing I wouldn't do for your daughter," he says. "Or your grandkids. You can hate me all you want, but they're my family. My entire world. And I love your daughter. More than I could ever tell you. More than I could ever tell her, actually."

She reaches out and lays her hand over his. The first display of genuine affection he's received from her in five years.

"You're good for her," she says. "And I hope she's just as good for you."

"She is. In so many ways. I don't know what happened between the two of you. Why the two of you stopped being close. But your daughter deserves that again. She may be a mom now, but she deserves to have a mom, too."

She nods slowly, considering his words.

He stays for an hour. Helping her clean up the mess in the house. Fixing lose cabinets and changing burnt out light bulbs and helping take things down to the basement for storage. They talk; she tells him stories from Esme's childhood, he shares tales of growing up in Australia. Afterwards she walks him out to the car, and the hug she gives this time is genuine.

"Please take care of them. My daughter. My grandkids. That's all I ask. Just take care of them."

"I will. I promise."

"And don't hurt my daughter. She trusts you. Don't make her regret that."

"I won't. You don't have to worry about that. I love her too much to hurt her."

Tears sparkle in her eyes. "Thank you. For loving her as much as you. And for giving me those beautiful grandbabies."

He smiles, and then gives her a hug of his own.

"And be careful," she adds, as he climbs into the SUV. "When you're out there. Just be careful. Be safe."

"I always am."

She reaches out and pats him on the cheek affectionately. Motherly. Then steps back as he shuts the door, guns the ignition, and drives away.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: SMUT

The kids come running as soon as they hear the SUV pull into the driveway, and he barely has one foot on the ground before they are throwing themselves at him for attention. All three soaked from head to toe, clad in bathing suits and life jackets. Each wanting their hug and a kiss in between talking over each other as they excitedly babbled about Ovi taking them down to the creek out back. It's normally an area that's entirely off limits without one of their parents with them, and Ovi looks momentarily panicked at the realization that the kids just completely threw him under the bus.

"Esme said it was okay," he quickly explains. "As long as they had life jackets on and I was watchful."

"We're being really careful, daddy," Millie chimes in, immediately jumping to the teenager's defense. "Ovi wouldn't let anything bad happen to us."

There are very few people that he actually trusts with his kids. His wife, naturally, Nik and Yaz (the latter is the quintessential uncle that doesn't waste any time getting down on the floor or out in the muck to play whereas Nik doesn't like the mess and noise that come with youngsters), and Ovi. He'd trusted him enough that day in the ice cream shop when'd first encountered the stranger from Chicago. He could have easily slipped into Ovi's side of the booth so he was also facing the door; a rule that he'd developed on the job, as it was easier to assess a situation and thwart off a threat if you were staring it in the face. But he'd let the kid handle. And never once worrying that he couldn't.

"You guys go on back," Tyler tousles the twins' hair, scoops Mille up and gives her a noisy kiss on the cheek before setting her back down again. "I'll be out in a little bit. I need to talk for your mom for a bit, okay?"

All three nod, then Millie snatches Ovi by the hand and nearly yanks him clear out of his sandals as she pulls him towards the backyard, her brothers happily racing after her.

He gathers paper bags of groceries out of the back seat; using his hip to shut the door. And for the first time in the three years that they've lived there, he pauses to set the alarm on the SUV. It has always seemed so secure back where they are; nearly a thousand meters from the road, towering trees surrounding them like an impenetrable wall, no view of the actual house to any vehicles passing by. The remote feeling had been its biggest selling point; no curious eyes checking out the property or looking through windows. A perfect place for a family with a secret like theirs. A secret that came with a lot of burned bridges, revenge seeking enemies, and unknown dangers lurking in the darkness. He'd never once felt unsettled living there; it was their own slice of heaven and a well-deserved break from the craziness that often surrounded them. It was as if those trees and that distance from other humanity made them invincible.

The talk with his mother in law has made him uneasy. The truth was out there now, and while at first his confession had felt as if a heavy burden had been lifted off his shoulders, now it ate away at him. He questions whether or not if had been the right decision; it was something he kept to himself in order to protect people, not deceive them. And the less people who knew about who he actually is, the better.

It wasn't his safety that he was worried about. He'd long ago discovered that he was more than capable of taking care of himself. It was the safety of those who were most vulnerable. Innocent. Who hadn't asked to be brought into this world; to have the father that they do. And maybe the mother in law was right. Maybe it is selfish on his part: to bring children into the world while living the life that he does. To leave them alone and vulnerable while he goes off to fight to someone else's fight. Willingly putting them at risk.

It had never been his attention; putting targets on their backs. He's always felt as if he'd found that perfect balance between the job and having a family. When he was home that other Tyler didn't exist; he sat quietly in the background, ready and willing to make an appearance when the time was right. At home he could concentrate on actually being happy, a normal life with a wife and kids and a regular job. No one ever had a reason to question who he was; just seen as a normal guy with a family.

But now the truth is out there. And it doesn't matter if it's just one person who knows it or a hundred. The words have been spoken and the confession had come spilling forth and whether he likes it nor, there will be consequences to pay.

There always are.

******

Mac greets him as he steps through the front door, weaving between his legs, tail happily wagging. And after he toes of his boots, he sets the groceries down and crouches in front of the dog; offering belly rubs and scratches under the chin and behind the ears, then giving him a handful of treats from the groceries he's brought home. Knees cracking noisily as he stands, and he pauses momentarily to lock the latch on the screen door. Something he's never done aside from at night when everyone heads to bed. And he hates himself for it; for feeling that hint of paranoia that suddenly nibbles away at him.

What the fuck have you done? He thinks, a scowl on his face. What in the actual fuck have you done? As good as it had felt to tell his mother in law the truth, he knows that it was probably the second biggest screw up of his entire life.

His wife is in the kitchen, busying herself at the island as various pots and pans of food bubble and sizzle on the stove. Clad in a t-shirt that's tied in a knot at her waist a pair of yoga shorts that fit like second skin; every curve of her ass and hips on display, showing off that colourful tattoo that starts at the top of her right foot and wraps its way all the way around her calf and stops just below the knee. Busily and intently chopping vegetables and dropping them into a large plastic bowl, oblivious to anything and everything going around her thanks to the air pods blasting music into her ears. Not even reacting when he drops the bags on the adjacent counter and then stands behind her, placing his hands on her hips and pressing a kiss to the nape of her neck.

She nearly jumps clear out of her skin, and he's chuckling as she plucks the pods out of her ears and turns around to punch him in the gut. "You scared the ever-loving shit out of me! Jesus Christ, Tyler!"

"You looked totally into whatever you're doing there and I didn't want to disturb you. Looking all cute being domestic and shit. I told you I'd turn you into an honest woman."

"I always knew your devious plan was to keep me barefoot and pregnant," she says, as she turns back to the task at hand. "Not that the last part is happening right now. But if you have your way…"

"If I had my way, we'd have an even dozen."

"There is something seriously wrong with you. Whatever happened to 'once we have the twins, that's enough. I won't want any more'?. Because I distinctly remember you saying those exact words. You were perfectly happy with three."

"That's until they were born. Once that happened, I changed my mind."

It is an amazing thing, watching the love of your life growing bigger with your child. And then being able to witness that baby…or babies…being brought into this world. Enduring months of extreme sickness and nearly twenty hours of labour had cemented her status as the strongest, bravest woman…person…he's ever known.

"What's going on here?" he asks and helps himself to a piece of cucumber. "You going all Martha Stewart on me?"

"Please," she snorts. "Martha Stewart I am not. I don't even know why I'm even feeling so pressed about this. It's just some random girl that Ovi is bringing over. It's no one terribly important. Why the hell am I going to so much trouble to impress her? It's not like I actually care if she likes me or if she thinks the house is clean enough or if she wonders if the kids really are the spawn of Satan. Speaking of which…" she points the knife in the direction of the backyard and continues her rambling. "…if you could actually give your children all a bath when they come in because your sons are starting to smell just as bad as the chickens and the goats and they're only four and should not smell like you on your worst day. And can you please trim Tyler's nails because holy shit I don't know what he does to get all the crap under there but…"

Hands on her hips, he turns her around to face him. Eyes momentarily searching hers before cradling her face in his palms and kissing her. Long and soft. Slow and sweet. Closed mouth upon closed mouth. And he feels all the tension and nerves just escape her body; her muscles relaxing and her hands coming up to rest on his forearms.

"Mmmm…" she's smiling when it's over, eyes closed. "...that was nice. What was that for? To get me to shut up?"

"You know me, I would have just told you to shut the fuck up."

And he has. Many times. The incessant rambling is cute. But when they get into an argument and she just won't stop riding his ass about stupid shit, well that's when he gets a little testy. Both have fiery tempers; he takes longer to get to the point of exploding, whereas she just loses it right off the hop.

And neither of them like to back down from a challenge. Or admit when they're wrong.

"I just wanted to kiss you," he says, tucking her hair behind her ears. "Do I need a reason to kiss my wife?"

Her eyes are sparkling as she smiles up at him, her hands still on his forearms as she leans back against the counter.

Fuck, she's beautiful when she smiles. Well, all the time really. But when she smiles there's just something so different about her. The way her entire face brightens and the bridge of her nose crinkles. And it isn't just a normal smile. One that she uses with everyone she comes across. No. This is a smile that's reserved only for him. It's soft and pure and full of so much love and adoration that it's almost enough to take his breath away.

"You're not usually the kind of guy that does things for no reason," she teases, as her fingertips slowly drift along his arms, all the way up to his elbows and then back down again. Traveling over the top of his hands and along his fingers. "Kiss me again."

He happily obliges. One hand sliding to the nape of the neck as he pulls her into him. The second kiss quickly transforming into something more; intense and hungry, her tongue aggressively pushing its way into his mouth and her hands moving to the front of his t-shirt, tightly gripping the thin fabric. And this time it's his turn to pull away first, a smirk on his face.

"You shouldn't kiss me like that," he playfully scolds.

"I can't help it if you're a six-foot three walking ball of hormones. Besides, I thought you liked when I kissed you like that."

"I do. But I like it a little too much."

"How much?" her eyes sparkle mischievously as she brushes a hand over his fabric covered crotch, an eyebrow shooting up as she discovers the truth behind his words. "Well…well…well…" she drawls. "…Tyler Rake…I'm both flattered and extremely impressed."

"You're a bad fucking influence," he smirks, and backs away when she reaches for his belt. "Have you been drinking? Are you drunk?"

"Not yet. But I am ovulating. So…"

"You actually caved and used one of those tests didn't you."

"I did. And it says it's the perfect time. So…" her hand slides up the front of his shirt, two fingers dipping below the waist of his jeans. "...let's make a baby. Or have fun trying at least."

"Right now? Like right this second?"

"The kids are outside with Ovi. They won't come in. We'll hear them before we do. Get your shit together, Tyler. You should be flattered you have a wife that wants to jump your bones as much as she does."

"Yeah, I think there's evidence right there showing how flattered I actually am."

"If you keep dragging your heels like this, I'm going to get seriously offended. I'm going to think that you're just not that into me anymore. That maybe you've found someone else."

"Stop that shit. You know that's not true. There is no one else. There never will be anyone else."

"Then stop giving me a complex. You don't want to insult my delicate feelings do you?"

"You delicate?" he snorts. "Excuse me, have we met?"

"You want a baby and my body is saying that now is the prime time," she slides his belt out of the buckle, fingers on the button of his jeans. "So unless you want to totally waste a perfect moment..."

He groans when her hand slips down the front of his pants and his boxers, cupping his thick, hard length and running her thumb over the head. A smirk on her face when she brings her hand to her mouth, eyes never leaving his as she licks the precum off of her thumb.

That's all it takes. His mouth crashes down on hers, a hand on the back of her head he uses his body weight to propel her across the room and down the hall, his free hand tightly gripping her ass he pushes her into the small spare bathroom.

"This might be the only place we haven't christened yet," she says, as his lips and tongue feast on the side of her neck and his hands aggressively shove her shorts down over her ass and hips.

"Well I guess that's about to change. No underwear? Seriously?"

"You can see the lines through these shorts," she reasons, and then giggles when his arm curls around her waist and he effortlessly lifts her up and drops her on the counter. "That and I was totally planning on seducing you the second you walked in the door. It worked, right?"

"A little too well," he yanks the shorts down her legs and over her ankles, tossing them to the floor. Leaning over to place soft, wet kisses on her smooth thighs. Dropping to his knees and pushing her legs apart,

"Like I said…" her fingers deftly working at the button and zipper of his jeans. "…six-foot three walking ball of hormones. I really do hope this is your version of a midlife crisis because..." her words are cut off by a long, soft moan as his tongue pushes its way through her moist folds and finds her clit. Suckling and licking at it until her wetness pools underneath and coats his lips and his beard. "…shit…" she breathes, her hands in his hair. "…Tyler…you're so good at this…so fucking good."

He pulls back, breathing a cool, steady stream of air right onto her clit, and she cries out and tightens her hold on his hair. Hips sliding forwards, encouraging him to continue. Then mewling with disappointment when he stops all together and stands.

"Tease," she pouts, and he kicks off his jeans and boxers and once more curls an arm around her waist. Yanking her towards him, a hand on his cock as he guides himself towards her opening. And she gasps at that initial penetration. Even after five years together, that sensation is incredible. The way he feels inside of her; how her muscles have to stretch to accommodate him.

It's a quick and crude coupling. Her ass in his palms, her forehead against his shoulder, their breathing ragged and their chests heaving as he slams into her. His hand eventually sneaking in between them to rub at her clit as he fucks her. A frantic pace to his fingers, applying just the right of amount of pressure that has her orgasm hitting hard and fast. Her teeth digging straight through the fabric of his shirt and breaking the skin underneath.

"Fuck…" he grounds out, both at the sharp sudden pain of the bite and the way those inner muscles of hers contract around his cock. Thrusts growing erratic and sloppy until his head falls forward and her name escapes his lips and she feels the warmth that baths her insides.

For several minutes neither of them speak. His forehead against her shoulder, enjoying the sensation of her hands combing through his hair. The way she slowly lets those longer strands slip between her fingers. Then he pulls back and kisses her, a grin on his face as he regards her sweaty, glowing face.

"If that doesn't put a baby in you, nothing will."

*****

"She seems nice," Esme comments three hours later, as they work together to get the food out to the back deck.

Both are showered and freshened up, her in a cotton sundress with thin straps that crisscross at the back; red with white and yellow flowers, stopping just below the knee. He in a pair of khaki pants (the one she swears hug his ass 'just right) and a thin button down light blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows.

Chloe isn't what she expected; a tall, leggy and willowy red head with stunning green eyes, short cropped hair and a killer body that she keeps hidden under modest clothing.

"Did you know she looked like that?" she nods towards the backyard, where their guest is entertaining the kids on the wooden playset. Her laughter -and theirs- floating on the breeze.

"Like what?"

"Like that. I think I have a girl crush. She's hot! Her body is wickedly good."

"Do I have to worry about you switching other to the other side?" he teases and leans in to press a kiss to her cheek.

"Who says I haven't already."

Tyler's eyes widen.

"The first year of the Marines was a wild time," she says in self defense. "I'm starting to understand why Ovi is so caught up. Look how good she is with the kids."

"She owns her own day care. It's what she does. You expected her to be terrible with them?"

"I expected her to wonder what kind of feral hellions we raise around here," she jokes. "They're savages. Like their father," she directs a playful elbow to his ribs. "Come on, you can admit it. She's hot."

"I'm not admitting to anything. Because right now it might be okay. But tonight, after you've got wine in you, there'll be hell to pay because you'll freak out about me finding another woman attractive. So I'm not saying shit. I've learned to pick my battles."

"Please," she rolls her eyes. "I'm not naïve. I know you find other women attractive. The same way I find other men attractive."

"I don't want to hear this. I don't know who you find attractive. Can't you just let me live in my own happy little world full of denial?" Of course he knows other men…and probably some women…find his wife attractive. But it doesn't mean he actually likes to think about it. He'd never considered himself the jealous and possessive type. Until her.

"As long as you're coming to my bed…our bed…that's all that matters. It's human nature," she continues, as she gathers up bowls of food and follows him to the open patio door. "So do you?" she presses, as she follows him outside. Arranging the food on the large patio table. "Think she's hot?"

"We are not having this conversation. This won't end well for me. This is not the hill I want to die on."

"I'm taking that as a yes," she says, and he grins and leans in to kiss her.

He refills her wine glass, then takes his beer over to the BBQ in the corner.

"You're kind of sexy," his wife observes as she joins him, leaning against the deck railing. "It's hot when you do normal guy shit."

"Normal guy shit? As opposed to what other kind of shit?"

"Oh you know. Punching people in the throat. Breaking their necks. Impaling them with garden rakes. That side is enormously sexy in a very strange and disturbing way. I should not find that as much of a turn on as I do."

"You've got fucking issues," he teases, and swigs his beer.

"You think?" her eyes sparkle playfully. "Look who I married. If that doesn't say issues, I don't know what does. But I mean normal guy stuff that normal guys do. Fix shit around the house, take out the garbage, kill the spiders, change dirty diapers, play with your kids. That kind of stuff. Play with your meat."

"What the fuck…" he chuckles, shaking his head.

"I meant the meat you're cooking. Jesus Christ, Tyler. Get your mind out of the gutter for five seconds, would you?" she sips her wine, eyes narrowing against the sun as she watches Chloe chase the kids around in her bare feet. "She's like a mix of a Suicide Girl and Mary Poppins. It's strange and unsettling but amazing all at the same time."

"You need to get out of the house more. I'm starting to worry about you. Like legit worry. There is something not quite right upstairs."

"You're five years into the marriage and you're just realizing that now? Have you been napping all this time?" she teases. "Ovi seems crazy about her. Look at the way he watches her and hangs on every move. It makes me both nauseous and proud at the same time. Like I'm watching my son become a man right before my very eyes."

Her son. It's the first time she's ever called him that. At least out loud.

"You know who else looks at the woman he loves like that?"

"Please don't say it," Tyler begs. "Just don't."

"You're very sensitive when it comes to the feels, aren't you. You don't like to talk about these things."

"I like to feel them. Not talk about them."

"You're such an alpha male," she says, and takes another sip of wine. "You can deny it all you want, Tyler. I know you look at me that way. People tell me all the time."

"Esme, please. Stop."

"Everyone notices it. Even Nik. And she hates the feels more than you do. She's always going on and on about how it's written all over your face and it's in your eyes and…"

"Enough," he silences her with a kiss. "You know I don't like talking about this kind of stuff."

It isn't because he doesn't feel them. Or that he isn't aware that it's all true. But when the reality of those feelings are put out there, a second reality accompanies them: the thought of what would happen and how he would cope if she suddenly ceased to exist. If one day he woke up and she wasn't there anymore. And it terrifies him. To think of a world without her in it.

Not that he'd ever admit to that, either.

"You know what burns my ass though," she says. "The way she calls me Mrs Rake."

"Why? That is your literally your name. You legally changed your last name to mine."

"It makes me feel so old. I'm not even forty yet. Now that's old."

He smirks. "I swear to God, keep it up with the old man jokes and cheap shots and I will you choke you out right here."

"Like the fun, sexy choking out or the bad choking out?" she counters, giggling against his lips when he kisses her and digs his teeth into her bottom lip. "I wonder how long this will last," she observes Chloe once again; her and Ovi -with Declan on his hip- hand in hand as they follow the kids over to the chickens and goats. "Maybe they'll get married."

"You've had what? Two glasses of wine and you're already talking about this kind of shit?"

"Oh I'm sorry. Old men don't like to hear about those things. They don't like to talk about the feels. They think it emasculates them and their wives will start carrying around their balls in their purses."

He shakes his head, then reaches out and places his hand around her throat. Not in malice. Playful. Just a soft press of his fingers into her flesh. It's how it all started back in that hotel room in Dhaka, his hand around her throat as they argued, and she just keep pushing him and pushing him until he snapped. Losing all sense of control and every ounce of will power and just taking her right there and then.

Now he leans down to kiss her. Long. Soft. Gentle. Then pecks her forehead and removes his hand and returns to the various meats sizzling on the BBQ.

"They'd have cute kids," she finishes her drink in one gulp.

"Let them have sex first, okay? That has to happen in order for them to have kids."

"You should know. You're kind of an expert on knocking someone up," she chides. "See baby, you do have multiple skill sets. You're a lover and a fighter. And people wonder I locked that shit down so quick. Well, that and the sex is incredible, and you have a huge…"

His cell phone…the private line…brings an abrupt end to the conversation, and he pulls it from the pocket of his khakis and checks the call display.

"Nik?" she asks, when she notices the frown that plays on his lips.

He lets it go to voice mail, phone in hand as he waits for the inevitable. A text message that comes in less than a minute later. "She says she'll be here tomorrow at noon. And that Yaz is bringing tons of chocolate for the kids and apologizes in advance if they spend tomorrow night bouncing off the walls."

"What does she want? I thought you told her you wanted two weeks off? I thought she agreed to it?"

"She did. She isn't calling me about a job. She's calling about the job. She says there's something she wants to talk to me about. A business opportunity."

"That can only translate to 'I've got a job with a huge pay out if you want it'."

"I already told her that I don't give a shit how much someone is offering; I'm not taking anything for at least two weeks. I want to spend time with my wife and my kids. And if she doesn't like that, she can fuck off. She knew when I got back in the game that you and my children come first."

"So what could it be about then? It's not like Nik to keep secrets this long. Maybe she's met someone and needs some time off and wants you to run things. Or maybe…and just hear me out…she's pregnant."

"This is Nik we're talking about."

"So? She's probably very fertile. She's at prime baby making age."

"What is wrong with you? I meant that she hates kids."

"Well I wasn't necessarily too fond on of them until someone…I won't name names and throw anyone under the bus here… didn't remember that such a thing as condoms existed. And now, here we are. All domestic and shit."

"Don't blame it on me. I told you your blow job game is strong enough to rob me of brain cells. For fuck sakes Nik…" he mutters, as the text messages keep pouring in. This time he leaves the BBQ in favour of leaning against the railing beside his wife, letting her read them for herself.

The guy you asked about isn't who he says he is. He's not from Chicago. He's from Belfast, Northern Ireland. His name is Michael O'Mann. And he's ex IRA.

"Irish Republican Army?" Esme frowns. "Have you ever dealt with them before?"

"Never. I'd remember that. You don't forget a group like them."

I tracked him down. Spoke to him. He isn't here to hurt you. Or your family. He's here to meet you. He wants to talk to you.

"Okay, this is starting to sound worse than I anticipated," Esme frets.

They have his wife and his kids. He needs your help.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: PROFANITY, DOMESTIC ISSUES, ANGRY SEX

They sit in silence in the kitchen; guest long gone, Ovi in in his basement apartment, kids fast asleep. A laptop and empty bottles of beer joining various computer print outs, photographs, writing paper and pens that litter the tabletop. The only sounds in the room the soft hum of the of the fridge motor and the slight drip of the tap.

It had been difficult to get through the rest of the evening. Faking smiles, attempting to show interest in the small talk that comes with getting to know someone better, trying to hide the tension that Nik's text messages had created. But they'd wanted to make the night pleasant for Ovi; he'd been through too much in the past five years and he deserved some happiness. It was quite obvious that he was crazy about the red head that had spent the evening glued to his side; their hands clasped tightly as they rested on top of the table, a permanent and genuine smile plastered across his face. He hung onto every word she said. She was well spoken and intelligent; she loved the kids and wanted to spend more time with then and she'd been enthralled about Tyler's stories about growing up in Australia. She was genuine. Sweet. And obviously just as smitten with Ovi as he was with her.

So they had decided to just dig in and grin and bare it. For his sake. Putting on a good show for the new love in his life. Despite the fact everything seemed to be falling apart.

"I don't know what you want me to say," Esme says, breaking the silence, running her palms along the side of her wine glass. Was it her fourth? Fifth? Maybe even sixth? She's lost count. She's drained the bottle and he only thing that matters at this point is that there's still a full one chilling in the fridge. And she isn't above breaking that one open and polishing it off as well.

"Something," Tyler responds, leaning back in his chair, legs stretched out in front of him. "Anything."

"Oh I don't think you really want that. Because the things going through my head right now aren't very nice and we will both end up saying shit we regret. So…" she downs the remains of her drink, frowns at the empty now empty glass, and then pushes her chair away from the table. "…I think I should just keep my mouth shut."

He watches as she stalks over to the fridge, tosses the door open with enough force to shake the contents inside, snags the bottle of wine and then uses her heel to slam the door. He sits forward, elbows on the table, hands clasped together and his chin resting against them. Normally this would be a sign of a wild night: a drunk Esme truly does make for an uninhibited Esme. And if sex is off the charts amazing while she is sober, it is just otherworldly insane when she's not. But tonight…well he's just hoping to get through it in one piece.

"What?" she snaps when she notices him watching her. "What do you want me to say, Tyler?"

"I don't know," he admits with a shrug. "I honestly do not know."

He's alarmingly calm. Is it the half a twenty- four case he's already finished by himself? Or the fact that he owes her this? The epic meltdown that he knows is just on the horizon. Normally he'd fight it; he'd lash out at her for being a raging bitch and it would escalate into a massive blow out in which all kinds of petty shit would get held over each other's heads and they'd pull out the stupidest and most hurtful crap possible. It happened at least once a year, every year, for the past five. Where something would cause either one of them to just snap and lose their shit.

"How the hell would you even get brought into this?" she fills her glass to the rim before setting the bottle on the table and slipping back into her seat. "Like where do you come into this? How does he even know who you are?"

"You know how big the circle is when it comes to the job. Word gets around. Stories get shared. You build up a rep."

"And what's yours? The guy who says 'fuck my family. I'll do your dirty work for you'?"

"I don't deserve that and you know it. I always put you and the kids first. Always."

"Oh really, Tyler? Really? Because I seem to remember you making the decision to go back to the job all on your own. I distinctly you remember keeping it a secret until the night before you left for Colombia. Do you remember that? Waiting until you got your rocks off to say, 'oh by the way, baby. I'm going to infiltrate a drug cartel tomorrow. I'll be back in a week'. Because that is exactly how you handled it."

Sighing heavily, he runs his hands over his face and leans over to grab another beer from the case resting on the floor beside his chair.

"I was six months pregnant," she continues. "With twins. And you decided to just run off to some god forsaken shit hole to solve other peoples' problems."

"We needed the money," he attempts to reason with her. "We just got this place. We had Millie and a baby on the way. Two babies. We weren't going to get by on what I was making doing renos and handyman shit and you knew it. What did you want me to do? Did you want us to keep living with your parents? Or in some shit motel? Like the one back in Dhaka? Is that what you wanted?"

"I would have lived in a goddamn cardboard box if it meant I was with you. So don't throw the money shit in my face because it has never been about money. You like doing the job. Why don't you just admit it? Why don't you just look me in the eye and tell me the truth about it for once. That you enjoy what you do. That it's a rush. That you don't want to let that rush go. And how you never thought you'd be able to do it again and now you feel like you have something to prove. Not just to other people but to yourself."

He leans back in his chair once again, sipping at his beer.

"You can't do it, can you. You can't look me in the eye and tell me that because you hate that part of yourself. You hate that you enjoy it so much. That you actually like killing people."

"That's not fucking true and you know it," he manages to keep his composure. "I kill people because they fucking deserve it. Because it's either me or them. And I kind of like coming home to my family."

"But does it really bother you, Tyler?" she challenges. "Do you really lose sleep over it? Do you sit back and think about them after you do it? Give any thought to who they don't get to go home to? Because if you say you do, you're a fucking liar."

He remains silent, picking at the label on the bottle in his hand.

"You can keep bullshitting yourself, but you can't bullshit me. You went back to the job because you enjoy it. You get a sense of satisfaction out of what you do. It's karma. You get to go in there and kick the shit out of people and even take their lives and you get a sense of justice out of it. It's exciting. It's fulfilling. To be able to take the life from some piece of shit that likes to hurt women and kids. It's the perfect ending for people like that. And you get to be in control of it."

"Yep," he smirks, voice low and steady. "That's exactly it, Esme. You always have all the answers. You always know exactly what is going on in my head."

"Oh fuck you, Tyler. This…all this…all this bullshit…is totally on you and you know it. You told me you wouldn't do this. You promised me.! You swore you wouldn't take another job for two weeks. That we could have you here…home where you belong..for at least fourteen days before you'd even take a call from Nik. Your kids miss you. I miss you."

"And what?" his tone sharpens, volume rising. " I don't miss you guys? You think this is one sided? That you're the only miserable one? That I don't wish every second that I was here with you? With my kids? You have no idea what I go through when I'm away. It's just all about you. About how lonely you are and how scared you and all this other shit that you dump on me the second I walk through the door."

"Oh so how I feel about you is shit? Well that's nice, Tyler. I'm glad to see you give a shit about how I feel about you."

"That's not what I meant and you bloody well know it. The second I walk through the door it's all about you and what you were going through and how worried you were and how scared you were and I sit there and take it. Because I get it. I do. It's not easy. And I hate that you're going through it. But do you ever once ask me what it does to me while I'm away? How much it fucks with my head?"

She blinks at the sincerity in his voice. He's angry. Irritated. But heart-breakingly real and honest.

"You never do. You never even think about that, do you. You think I'm out there just loving every goddamn second of being away from you and the kids. I'm out there…putting my ass on the line…for people that don't even know me. And ninety percent of them are ungrateful fucks who don't even say thank you for nearly getting killed saving someone they love. Who don't even stop to think that maybe the guy who just went through hell to get their kid or the spouse back just may have kids and a spouse of his own who would like to see him walk back in the door."

She taps a fingernail against her glass, eyes riveted on the liquid inside as she considers his words.

"But I've always got to the strong one, right? Because that's why you need. You need me to be the one that holds shit together. You need me to be one that's there for you and makes you feel safe and protected and all that shit. I'm the one that has to make up for the fact that your ex was a complete and utter tool that made you feel like garbage."

"He has nothing to do with this. Why would you…?"

"I have spent five years trying to make up for his mistakes. Five years trying to prove to you that I'm not like him. That I'll never be like him. I'm sorry he was a dick. I'm sorry that he did the things he did to you. That you lost a baby and he didn't even give a shit. But I shouldn't have to spend the rest of my life trying to make up for his mistakes."

"That's seriously what you think? That I'm punishing you?"

"I never said that. I never said you were punishing me. I said that I'm the one that is here and I'm the one that is constantly trying to prove to you that I'm not him. When does that stop, huh? When does your hate for him stop and your love for me kick in?"

"You…have…got…to…be…kidding…me," she spits out every single word. "Don't you ever…ever…question how much I love you. How dare you even do that?! How dare you just sit there and accuse me of not loving you."

"Stop!" he orders. "Stop putting words in my mouth. I did not say that. I don't doubt that you love me. I know you do. And I know I don't deserve that. Because I'm a shitty human being whose made shitty choices and…"

"Oh here we go. Tyler and his issues. Tyler and his self loathing. Not everything is about some decision you made ten years ago when you were married to someone else. You bitch that I make you feel like you have to over compensate because of what my ex did. Yet for five years I've been living in this shadow of your ex wife. I get it. What she did was shitty. What she continues to do is shitty. But what you did was equally shitty. If not worse."

"Just let it out, Esme. Just say what you really feel about me. You've been holding it back for what? Almost six years now? Go ahead."

"I love you, you insufferable bastard! It happened. You made the decision you did and your son died and your ex took off. But I'm here and so are those four babies sleeping upstairs. And you need to let your shit go, Tyler! If not for me, for them. Because they deserve to have a dad who is all in. Not one who seems them as a replacement."

"Don't…" he holds his hand up in a plea for her to stop. "…bring them into this. Don't hold my kids over my head. Don't be like her."

"I'm not like her. I've never been like her," she spits. "I will never be like her. Don't you dare compare me to her. Why can't you just let me love you? It's been five…almost six…years of this, Tyler. Of trying to prove to you that I love you. When is it enough?"

"You don't have to prove anything to me. I know you love me. For fuck sakes…" he takes a massive swallow of beer. "…we're just going around in bloody circles and repeating the same shit. I know you love me, Esme. And I know…or at least I hope you know…that I love you. More than I ever thought I could love another human being. You know that, right? Tell me know that."

"Of course I know that," she quietly concedes. "But…"

"Nothing good comes after that word," he sighs. "Nothing good ever comes after the word 'but'."

"You act like you are the only one that's ever had to just suck it up and be strong. That's had to sacrifice their own well being and their own mental health for someone else. I gave up everything for you. Without even knowing where I even stood with you. I was the one that moved half way around the world and gave up my entire life as I knew it. For some guy that could have just told me to fuck off when he opened his eyes."

"Holy shit," he gives a wry laugh. "We're going that far back are we? We're going right back to Dhaka. Are you serious right now? You really want to open up that can of worms? Because we both know the truth will really come out and some of that shit is going to hurt like hell. Is this really what you want? You want to bring Dhaka into this?"

"Not really," she admits. "But maybe we need to."

"Why? So we can just say shit because we're upset? Because you get off on me hurting your feelings?"

"Just forget it," she downs the wine in her glass and stands up. "Do what you want, Tyler. I'm done. Help or don't help this guy. I don't give a shit."

"Just sit down."

"You're going to do whatever you want anyway. So why take this further."

"Sit down. We're not ending it like this. You're not walking away from this. From me."

"Just do what you want. I'm tired of this. I'm tired of competing with the fucking job. Make up your own mind. And while you're at it, why don't you call Nik and see if she'll put you up for the night. I'm sure she has a spot in her bed you can fill."

****

It's a low blow. One that kicks him square in the nuts. And first all he can do is watch her stomp through the kitchen. Brain trying to piece together just what the hell had happened. And then words hit home…the implication behind them…and he snaps. Jumping up from the table with enough force to send his chair colliding with the wall behind him. Crossing the kitchen in only three long strides and snagging her by the forearm. He's much bigger, stronger, and his fingers bite straight to the bone.

"What the fuck, Tyler?!" she rages, when he forces her to turn around and face her. "What is your major malfunction? That hurts!"

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" he roars. "You stoop that fucking low?! You want to push me away that bad that you'd say something like that?! About me and Nik?!"

"So that's what it takes to get a reaction out of you. For me to say something about your precious Nik."

"Don't…don't do this…don't go where you're about to go…"

"Maybe it isn't your ex wife or the job I'm competing against. Maybe it's her. Maybe it's really Nik you've wanted all along. You just couldn't have her. So why not just latch on to her pathetic and needy and desperate friend."

"That isn't true and you know it. I've never wanted Nik in that way. It was sex. That's all it was. It never meant a goddamn thing. And I didn't latch onto you. I fell in love with you."

"But she wants you. In that way. Don't lie to me and tell me she doesn't."

"It doesn't matter what she wants! I don't give a shit what she wants."

"Have you fucked here while we've been married?"

"What?" his grip on her tightens, her arm twisted behind her back.

"Have you? Have you been with her since we've been married? Tell me the truth, Tyler. Look me in the eye and tell me the goddamn truth."

"I haven't been with her since I met you. I don't want to be with her."

"Even now?"

"What does that mean? Even now? What…?"

"You hate me, don't you. Right this very second."

"No. I don't hate you. I could never hate you. I love you. How many times do I have to say it before it gets through your goddamn head?"

"Tell me the truth," she challenges.

"About what?"

"About Nik."

"I just fucking told you!" he lets go of her wrist but now reaches for her throat. His chest heaving from anger, eyes dark and intense. And she doesn't even blink or fight back against those fingers biting into her flesh. "I would never do that you. With Nik. With anyone. Is that really what you think of me? You think that little of me that I'd do something like that? You're my wife!"

"This remind you of anything Tyler? Five years ago? This exact same thing happening?"

He swallows hard. It's a hard thing to forget. The first time they'd ever been together. In that dirty Dhaka hotel room. When they'd fought so passionately that it nearly came to blows and he'd snapped; losing all sense of control as his hand wrapped around her neck in the exact same way. The way she just stood there staring up at him with those huge dark eyes begging him to challenge her. To do something. Anything. And he'd taken her up on it. All common sense flying right out the window.

"You fucked me like you hated me," she says now.

The words make him shudder and his cock harden. And he knows he should be ashamed for having that kind of reaction. He knows damn well what's coming next; it's in the way her lips curl into a smirk as she looks up at him. And he tells himself that he should just walk away before the words even come out of her mouth. Reminds himself how much he's going to hate himself in the morning if he gives in. Just like he'd hated himself five years ago for not stopping it when he should have.

"That's what you want right now isn't it Tyler. You want to fuck me like you hate me."

He shakes his head, but his fingers tighten around her throat even more.

"Do it," she challenges. "Show me. Show me how much you hate me."

A growl erupts in his throat and he kisses her, hand still on her neck. Fingers pressing into her flesh as his tongue savagely pushes its way into her mouth and searches for hers. Every nerve ending on fire as she returns the kiss with just as much fervor, her hands sneaking between them and her fingers quickly working at undoing the buttons on his shirt. What should be a simple task turning frustrating from the mix of wine and anger.

"Fuck sakes," he mutters, breaking the kiss in order to pull off his shirt and toss it aside, the hand that was on her throat moving to the back of neck, a hiss escaping his lips when her nails scrape down the his chest and onto his stomach. Her eyes sparkling as her fingers fall on his belt buckle. "What the hell is wrong with us?" he asks. "Why are we like this?"

"Because we like it," she replies, as her hands undo his belt. "Because it's part of who we are. Part of what makes us so amazing together."

"It's fucked up is what it is."

"Maybe," she says. "Because it always has been, hasn't it? Right from the beginning? Do you regret it?"

"I don't regret a goddamn thing."

She smiles at that, then slips her hand down the front of his boxers and palms his erection. "Fuck me, Tyler. Like you did five years ago."

When her hand tightly grips him through the fabric of his boxers, that last shred of resolve finally dissipates. Holding her face in his hands as he kisses her, using his height and strength advantage to push her through the kitchen and out into the dark hallway. Grabbing both of her wrists in one hand and pining them above her head as he pushes her against the wall. Lips moving to her neck; biting and sucking and licking while she hastily pushes his pants and boxers down his hips and over his ass. Cold fingers a striking contrast to the heat that seems to emanate off his cock as she strokes him; a firm, slow grip that has him bucking his hips against her and a groan rumbling in his chest.

He releases the hold on her wrist and curling an arm around her waist, free hand pushing up the bottom of her dress and bunching it at the small of her back. Lips on her throat when he pushes inside of her one solid, powerful thrust.

"Tyler…fuck!" she cries out, a mix of the sudden penetration and the back of her head colliding with the plaster behind her. Her arms wrapping around his neck and her head falling back as his bites at the soft flesh of her throat, over the marks that his fingers had previously made.

It's crude and messy. Uncomplicated and unapologetic. Two people using one another for release. Just like it had been almost six years ago in Dhaka. When they'd first discovered that they could help heal one another.

That they could help ease the loneliness and repair some of the brokenness they both felt.

****

"Can we talk about this now?" he asks sometime later, as they lay together on the couch in the living room. Him on his back, her naked body resting between his splayed legs. "Like rational adults?"

She nods, resting her chin on his chest. Her hair a wild mess, eyeliner and mascara smudged. Yet still the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

"I don't want to fight anymore," he says, and heaves a weary sigh. "I hate when we fight. I always feel like complete and utter shit afterwards. Like a total asshole."

"Even after we make up?"

"Even then," he admits, running a hand over her hair and pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I'm serious, Esme. I don't want to fight."

"Neither do I. But I honestly don't know how rational I can be about this. What am I supposed to say Tyler? What is it you want to hear from me?"

"I want you say that you support me. No matter what."

"I do. I may not like your decision or agree with it, but I still support you. You should know that. I just don't understand how the hell this guy even knows your name."

"Like I said, the circle when you're in the game is huge. And word travels fast. Certain guys have reputations. They're known for certain things. I'm probably known as the guy that fucked over Amir Asif and should have died but somehow miraculously didn't. The guy who went from certain death to having a smoking hot wife," he grins down at her, and she pecks his lips.

"But how did he find you? You cover all your bases. You don't leave paper trails. Any trails for that matter. How would he track you down?"

"Maybe he paid off the right person to get the information he needed. Everyone has a price."

"Nik or Yaz? I doubt either of them would do that you. Both of them are crazy loyal to you and they'd never put me or the kids at risk like that."

"Someone else on the team then. Someone that could easily be bought off. That's up to Nik to find out. All he needed was an address. It wouldn't be hard to just go in my file and look that up. Doesn't matter how locked down things are if someone has the right access."

"But why you? There's tons of guys out there that could help. Why you?"

"Because I'm the best." It isn't being cocky. It's the truth.

"But this is the IRA, Tyler. These people are far more powerful than the Amir Asif's and the Mahajan Seniors of the world. They're far more dangerous and they're far more deadly."

"Doesn't mean they can't be beaten, though."

"But does it really have to be you that tries? Can't you just tell Nik no?"

"This isn't about Nik. This is about him. This Michael McMann. He's the one that wants to talk to me. The one that wants my help."

"But why…" she laments, and groans against his chest. "…can't he walk into someone else's life and steal their husband away? Because I'm getting tired of this shit. I'm tired of it always being my husband," her hand slips down onto his side, fingertips tracing the tattoo on his ribcage. "Do you really hate being home that much?"

"You know that's not it in the slightest. It has nothing to do with not wanting to be home. But it has everything to with keeping my home and keeping a roof over my children's heads and food in their bellies."

"I could also go and get a job. We could pay Ovi to watch the kids."

"Do you know how long we'd both have to work to get the kind of money one job gives us? It would only take one or two really good paying jobs to pay everything off. And still have tons left over to work with. Anything else I make doing renos and handyman shit would be extra."

"Your life versus money in the bank? I'd rather you keep your life, thank you."

"Instead of looking at it fatalistically, look at it realistically. The kind of payouts I could get in just six months. That's money we wouldn't be able to make the entire rest of our lives doing normal shit. I have to do what I have to do. For you and the kids."

"You're not going to be much use to us if you're crippled up. Or dead."

"But you'd have the money."

She pulls back to look at me. "Please tell me you just did not say what I think you said."

"It's true. If something happened, as long as I get the mark out safe and sound, you'd get the money."

"Oh my God, Tyler. Really? Why would you even say that?"

"Because it's the truth and you need to know that you'd be okay. Financially speaking. And let's face it. You're strong. The strongest person I know. You'd be fine. If it ever came down to it and you had to this all on your own, you'd be able to handle it."

"And that's supposed to somehow comfort me? That I'm strong and I'd be able to deal with it?"

"No. But it comforts me," he says, emotion choking at him, the threat of tears burning his eyes. "Knowing that you'd be okay…that the kids would be okay…makes it easier to accept. That if something does happen to me, I know that you're strong enough to deal with it and take care of the kids. It makes me feel better knowing that."

"Baby…" she lays her hand on his cheek and turns his face towards her. "…do you really think about these things?"

"All the time," he admits. "Every night when I can't sleep and I just lie there watching you and I worry about how it'll be you that goes before me and how I know I'd never be able to handle it. That I'd just fucking lose it. I'd never be the same. And then I'd lose the kids too because their dad is a fucking mess and can't take care of them properly."

"Tyler…don't do this…please…don't do this to yourself."

"And then when I'm away from home and I can't sleep and I think about how it much it would suck if I didn't make it home. How much I'd miss you. But that I know you'd be fine. And the kids would be fine. Because you're so much stronger than I am. You don't even realize that, do you? That you're the strong one."

She doesn't respond, propping herself up on her elbow and using gentle fingertips to clear the tears that rests on his cheeks and trickle down the sides of his nose. Then combing her fingers through his hair, she presses her lips to his forehead, each eye, along the bridge of his noise, and then finally his lips.

He kisses her, a hand on the back of her head, pulling her back down into him.

"I have to do this," he says. "I have to help him."

She sighs. "I know."

"It's his wife. And his kids. I'd want someone to help me if I was in his shoes."

She sighs and reaches for his hand. Laying her palm against his, smiling at the enormous difference between their hands. His strong and calloused and hers seeming impossibly tiny in comparison. "At least go into this meeting with an open mind," she says, as he presses a kiss to the inside of her wrist before entwining their fingers together. "Don't just go in there and say yes right away. Go and listen to what he has to say and then make up your mind from there. Can you do that for me? Promise me you'll do that."

He places his lips against her forehead. "I promise."

She nestles her face into the space between his cheek and shoulder, tightens the hold on his hand.

Never wanting to let it go.


	14. Chapter 14

They meet at ten in the morning; in the restaurant attached to Michael McMann's motel. Wood panelling on the walls, cracked and faded linoleum on the floors, mismatched swag lamps hanging over the middle of each table. Two other customers linger at the front counter: older gentlemen in coveralls, ball caps and plaid shirts. And they briefly glance up as Tyler steps through the front door; an imposing figure given his height and build. And the lone waitress gives him a smile and a nod in greeting and jerks her head in the direction of the far back corner where McMann waits in the booth furthest from the entrance.

"I think that's who you're looking for, hun," she says. "Said he was expecting someone."

He thanks her and orders a black coffee. His hang over is brutal; a pounding headache and mild nausea that mixes horribly with the near constant agony in his shoulder and knee. The night before had been an epic disaster; the terrible, hurtful things that had been said and the accusations that had been made, the deep purple bruises that he'd left on her forearm in a fit of blind rage, the lighter but equally as noticeable marks that marred her throat. He despises himself for losing control like that; for hurting -both verbally and physically- the one person he'd promised he never would. But the allegations that something was going on between him and Nik had set him off, filling him with a level of rage he'd never experienced before, whether it be in his personal life or while on the job. A blinding, explosive anger that had robbed him of all rational thought. It was a line that should never been crossed; throwing Nik and their past in his face just to provoke him. And all that had mattered after that was getting revenge.

Not his finest moment, to say the least. And while what had happened after was incredible, it had only been a temporary fix. It hadn't stopped him from feeling disgusted with himself; for the things he'd said out of anger, for putting his hands on her, for giving in so easily to the little yet not entirely harmless games that she likes to play. Their second time…in the comforts and confines of their own bed...had been slower. Intense. Loving. Seeking absolution through love making. Hoping she saw the apologies in his eyes, in the way that his hands languidly explored her body, in the way he kissed her. And afterwards he'd held as she slept. Listening to her soft, rhythmic breathing, feeling her warm, soft form pressed against his. Yet sleep had alluded him despite the sex and the booze and the energy put into their blow out.

McMann slips out of the booth and stands as Tyler approaches. "Mister Rake."

"Tyler's fine," he says, and shakes the hand offered to him. "Where was that accent two days ago?" he inquires with a smirk, waiting for the other man to return to his seat before slipping in across from him.

"I've gotten used to hiding it. When I feel like I need to. You carrying?"

Tyler nods, lifting the bottom of his t-shirt to reveal the Glock in the holster on his right hip. It's been years since he's carried while not on the job. And he can still see the look on Esme's face when he'd come downstairs wearing it; her eyes widening with a mix of surprise, confusion, and perhaps a little bit of fear.

"Good…good…" McMann nods as he sips his coffee. "…can never be too careful. Especially with these bastards."

The waitress arrives with Tyler's coffee in one hand a full pot of fresh brew in the other, using it to fill the other man's mug before slinking off.

Tyler removes his sunglasses and sets them down on the table, closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

"Rough night?" McMann asks.

"Just a bit. Had a little too much to drink. And I have a teething ten-month-old, so…"

"So four? All together?"

He nods. "My daughter's five. The twins will be four soon. We're hoping to have one more."

"Big family."

"Well we weren't exactly planning on having two at once. That was a pretty big surprise."

He can still remember the day of her first ultrasound, when the tech had been pointing out and highlighting all the different things on the screen, and the way she suddenly grew silent and zoomed in on a particular spot, eyes narrowing as she moved closer towards the screen. At first, he'd thought maybe there was something wrong. That she had found something that definitely should not be there. Or maybe even something missing. And then she'd smiled and turned the screen towards them and announced that she was seeing double. Of everything.

"You mean there's two?" he'd inquired, unable to get his head wrapped around it.

Five months later they found out the twins were both boys. And the jokes about the super sperm were born.

"Been married long?" McCann asks, nodding down at the ring on Tyler's finger. A simple, wide white gold band with black around the top and bottom edges.

"Little over five years."

"Since Dhaka."

Tyler cocks an eyebrow. "You know about Dhaka?"

"Everyone knows about Dhaka."

"It was a goddamn disaster," he scoffs. "Things started out great and went to shit fast."

"Wasn't a total disaster. You got the kid out, didn't you?"

Tyler nods.

"Only a disaster if the mark doesn't make it. It doesn't matter if we do."

"You're in the game?"

"Self employed. I handle my own clients. Easier to control things that way. I'm sorry if I caused problems. If I scared the little ones. Or your wife. That wasn't my intention. But I had to make sure things were completely clear before I made my move. You never know who is out there, waiting, watching. I'm sure you can understand that."

"I can," Tyler agrees. "I've been trying to keep things on the downlow for five years now. How did you even find me?"

"Well it wasn't easy; I can tell you that. You're not an easy man to find. There's no paper trail. You might as well not even exist. At first, I thought maybe you didn't. That you really did die on that bridge and everything else I'd been hearing were just rumours. An urban legend. Then I caught wind of your wife's name and that she was originally from Colorado."

"How'd you get my wife's name? That's not exactly out there for everyone to know."

"Someone in the game that worked with her in the past. They told me she went to work for a Nik Khan. So I went from there. I tracked down the info and paid someone to give me your address. Paid handsomely, I might add."

Tyler smirks. "I'm going to need the name of that person."

"You know as well as I do that guys like us just don't give up their sources. I've been watching you for a week. Even in Guatemala. Biding my time. Making sure that someone hadn't beat me to it and found you first. I was going to contact you yesterday, but Nik Khan found me before I got the chance. That was smart. Your instincts are sharp. You knew something wasn't right and you acted on it."

"I'd do anything to protect my family. You could have been a threat to them. I wasn't going to just sit back and wait for something to happen. Don't fuck with my family. That's my number one rule. For everyone. Mess with my family, and I'll make what happened in Dhaka look tame. So I'm warning you now, if this is actually some kind of trick and you really are here to cause problems, you might want to think twice about and just walk away now."

"I'm here for the exact reason I say I am."

"Which is?"

"I need your help."

"Why me? You're in the game. You probably know a handful of guys that you could go to with this."

"None of the guys I know can do what do you. They're good men. Capable men. But they're not capable of the things you are. I've seen your numbers. I've seen the body count. I've heard all the stories there is to hear."

"How do you know they're not just that? Stories? That it isn't just people talking? Maybe I am just an urban legend, yeah? How do you know I'm not?"

"Because you're here. You showed up. Someone who isn't all in wouldn't have bothered showing up. I know the things you're capable of. The kind of mercenary you are. That is no urban legend."

Tyler nods slowly, sips his coffee.

"The men I know…they're good…but they aren't Tyler Rake good. They can't do the things you can. Not even close. I need the best. Nothing else will do. There is no room for error here."

"What is it exactly you want me to? I'm not just jumping blindly into a job. Maybe six years ago I would have. When I didn't have anything to live for. But I have a wife and kids and I have to get home to them. I'm not just going to commit to something unless I know what I'm walking into."

"How much do you know? What has Nik told you?"

"That your ex IRA. That's about it."

"Once you're in, you can never get out. Not fully. I know that you know what that's like. It's like that with the job. Once you're in, it follows you. Even when you try to leave. It fucking haunts you. All the people you hurt, all the people you killed, all the bullshit you've seen or heard. It's always with you. And there's always some asshole that wants revenge."

"Ain't that the fucking truth," Tyler sighs.

"I was naïve. Blinded by love. For my wife. For my children. I lost all logic. Love will do that to you. To anyone. Have you noticed that? Since your wife? Since becoming a father? That you second guess yourself? That you make half assed decisions and can't figure out why?"

"Sometimes," Tyler admits.

"I thought once I was out, I was out. Naïve. Terribly naïve. I thought they'd leave my wife and my children alone. That they'd just come after me if that was ever their plan. Wrong. I was so wrong. It's been two years. I thought for sure the past was behind me. That I was in the free and clear."

"So what happened? Why are you here? Why do you need my help?"

"There's someone new in charge. Someone that wants to right the wrongs done towards the organization. I betrayed them. I was one of their best and they took it as a slight when I walked away. They came into my house while I was a on a job. They took my wife. My kids."

"How long ago?"

"Two weeks."

"Proof of life?" He hates even asking that question. And he sees the look of despair that washes over the other man's face. It's part of the job; needing all the info, seeing the victims firsthand and whether they're alive or dead. But it doesn't matter how seasoned you are. It's different when it's your own family.

McCann's cell phone sits on the tabletop and he reaches for it, punching in the code for the lock screen and then scrolling briefly through his files before offering the phone to Tyler. "Two separate videos," he says. "The first one is my wife."

He has to steel himself before pressing play. Six years ago, he would have just jumped right in, no questions asked. But this is a scenario he's had his own nightmares about. Vivid and terrifying dreams that would have him waking up in a cold sweat, heart pounding in his chest. Of his wife being taken by someone out for revenge. Of seeing her on video and hearing the absolute terror in her voice. How she'd cry and beg and plead for him to come and find her. Rescue her.

The video is as rough as he'd thought it would be. If not even more so. A pretty blond tied to a chair; bound at the ankles with zip ties, hands secured at the back. Her eyes wild with fear, dried blood and bruises on her face and neck, duct tape over her mouth. And he can feel the rage beginning to build inside; his stomach clenching, knuckles turning white as he grasps the phone impossibly tight. His chest constricting and sweat forming at his temples and the nape of his neck.

The second is even worse. Two little ones – a boy and a girl- face down on a stained and torn bare mattress. Hands and feet hog tied together, duct tape covering their eyes. A captor holding their heads back by the hair, taunting them as they cry for their father.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he mutters, all his thoughts going to his own children. Those beautiful, innocent four little people at home that have the utmost trust and faith in him. Living every day with the belief that daddy can solve everything and anything that comes their way. They feel safe. Loved. Protected. And he would die for them.

He would kill for them.

He feels nauseous. There's pure rage surging through him. Emotion sits square in his throat. And he stops the video and slides the phone across the table.

"How old are they?" he inquires, clearing his throat noisily and taking a gulp of the coffee.

"Six and four. Emma, she's the oldest. A beauty just like her mother. Nicholas is the baby. He's wild and mischievous. Like me, I suppose," he gives a small chuckle. "What are your children's' names?"

"Amelia. She's the oldest. We call her Millie. Tyler and Tanner are the twins. Declan is the baby."

"And your wife?"

"Esme," he smiles as he says her name. Even after nearly six years, just saying it…just the realization that she is all his…makes his heart feel lighter.

"Heather is my wife. I met her while I was on the job. She was a shop keeper that would always keep her eyes and her ears open. I was in New Zealand at the time."

"She's a kiwi," Tyler observes.

McCann nods. "I was there working on an extraction. A lot like your Dhaka job. But organized crime instead of drugs. I hit a stale mate; information was slow coming in and the trail was growing cold. She was the one that really got the ball rolling. She was..is..fearless. Really stuck her neck out for me. Just some random bloke off the street. In the end, the extraction was successful. I decided to stay in New Zealand. To get to know her better. Four months later, she went back with me to Ireland. Got married, started a family."

Tyler nods as he listens to the man talk, the thumb and forefinger of his right hand fidgeting with his wedding band. Twirling it in circles, pulling it up to the knuckle and pushing it back down again. A habit he indulges in when feeling anxious or is deep in thought.

"You met your wife on the job?" McCann asks.

"I did. She was the intel person. We were sent to Dhaka together. Our cover was to come off as newlyweds there for humanitarian reasons instead of going on a normal honeymoon. She was there to get the info; I was there to make sure nothing happened to her while she did. That part was easy. It was everything after it that went to shit."

"But you got her, and the kid, out safe."

He nods.

"Do you ever feel like a right selfish bastard? For even getting married and having a family? Because I know I bloody well do. For being so willing to bring someone into this goddamn bullshit. Someone who trust us and loves us despite what we do. We fall in love with them, we promise them the world, a future, and the whole time we know there might be consequences. We know that there is always going to be someone out there waiting to get revenge. And to make matters worse, we bring children into all of this! Innocent, beautiful children who shouldn't have to pay for our mistakes. Don't you ever feel that?"

"All the time," Tyler admits. It's a damn bitter pill to swallow.

"Do your kids know what you do?"

"No. Well my daughter sort of does. She knows I go places to help good people get away from bad people. She thinks I'm a superhero," he laughs wryly at that. "I worry what's going to happen when she's older. If she finds out the whole truth. Right now, she's daddy's girl. What happens when she's older and she finds out what I'm really like? I worry she's going to hate me."

The waitress cautiously approaches with a pot of coffee, filling both mugs.

"What is it you want from me?" Tyler asks. "What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to come to Ireland with me. To help find my wife and my kids. And to make those bastards pay for ever laying their hands on them."

"You want us to work together? Mate, I understand what you're going through. I do. I'd want to kill someone with my bare hands for touching my wife and my kids. But I work better alone. If Dhaka proved anything, it was that. It's better that I don't bring someone along with me."

"We won't be working together, per say," he explains. "They are being held in separate places. I want you to find my kids. I want you to find my kids and do whatever you have to do to make those assholes suffer. As horrifically and as painfully as you can. I don't want details. I don't care how you do. But you make them pay. And then you kill them. I want proof of that. Of the bodies."

"I don't work with kids, mate. I just can't. Ovi was fourteen and that was hard enough. But little kids?" he shakes his head. "I can't do that. I can't keep two little ones and myself safe. There's no telling how many hostiles will be there, if they'll come after us when it's all done, if I can even get two out of there at the same time. What if it comes down to saving one or the other? How do I make a decision like that?'

"So I'll go for my kids. You go for my wife. And the same thing stands: you make them pay and you make them pay dearly. Then you kill them. Every single last one. In the most brutal ways you can think of."

He chews on his bottom lip as he considers the variables. "When were these videos sent? When did you get proof of life last?"

"Yesterday. Seven thirty am. I was allowed to talk to them on the phone."

"Were you able to trace it?"

"Not without the proper tech. It was an unknown number."

"How do you know they're in Ireland? Because I don't want to get all the way there and start on some wild fucking goose chase only to find out they're halfway around the world."

"The captors confirmed they were in Northern Ireland. Near Belfast. And the IRA has accepted responsibility."

"Nik can put a tracer on your phone. She can narrow things down for us. Give her a call. Tell her I told you to call her and that I said to trace all your calls."

"You have that kind of pull?"

"She likes to think I don't, but I can pretty much get her to do anything for me. She'll do this for us."

"Us?" McCann's eyebrow arches. "Does that mean you'll do this? The payout won't be huge. I can't afford as much as drug lords."

"I don't care about the payout. We can talk about that later. After it's done."

"So you're in?"

Tyler leans back in his seats, hands behind his head, inhaling and exhaling slowly. "When did you want us to leave by?"

"Thirty-six hours. At the latest."

"I need to talk to my wife. I told her I wouldn't make any decision without talking to her. And I owe her that much. I just got back from two weeks on a job. I promised I'd stick around home for just as long. Give me a few hours, yeah? So I can get home and talk to her? Put your number in here," he slides his phone across the table. "Just use initials. No full names. When I get home, I'll call you on my SAT and you can use that and get rid of my private number, understand? I can't have anything getting traced back to my family. Because if something happens to them, I won't hesitate taking my rage and my grief out on you."

He finished his coffee and slides out of the booth, slipping his sunglasses back onto his face as he waits for McMann to store his info in his phone.

"You better not be fucking me around, mate. Because if I agree to do this and it turns out to all be bullshit and you're just doing it kill me or my family, it won't end well for you."

"It's legit," he promises. "I'd never use my family like that. Ever. I'd die for them. In the same way you would for yours."

Tyler nods, takes out his wallet and throws enough money (and then some) onto the table to pay for both their bills. "I'll be in touch," he says, as he drops his phone into his pocket and walks away.

****

By the time he gets home, Nik and Yaz have already arrived; a sleek gun metal grey SUV parked in the driveway. He had hoped they wouldn't be there. The last thing he wants, or needs is an audience when he spoke to his wife about the tentative arrangement with Michael McCann. There is the glimmer of hope that maybe things will go better than he expects them to. That she'll remain calm until he's at least done explaining his side to her. That she'll just sit back and hear him out and will either save the flip out for later for no one is around, or not have one at all.

A guy can dream.

Mac glances up from his napping spot on the porch as Tyler shuts the driver's side door on his truck and sets the alarm. And within seconds the puppy is running to greet him; tail wagging frantically, one ear standing straight up, the other flopped over to the side. All exuberance and contentment now that his favourite 'big person' has arrived home.

"Hey, mate. Hey," he greets, and crouches down, aggressively scratching Mac behind the ears and under the chin, laughing when the puppy flops over onto his back for a tummy rub. "You're a spoiled bloke, aren't you," he obliges, rubbing his knuckles against the soft fur. "You're getting fat. All the treats the kids keep sneaking you. You've got to keep an eye on things while I'm gone, mate. I'm counting on you. I need you to be the man of the house for a while."

Mac licks his hand in response, then nibbles at his fingers.

"Don't let me down, mate. You've gotta keep an eye on them, yeah? I won't be here to do it. So you've got to watch over them."

He indulges the puppy for several more minutes: chin scratches, tummy rubs, the game where Mac likes you to wrap your hand around his snout and shake his head back and forth. Then he stands, wipes his hands off on the thighs of his cargo shorts and heads up the front walk. He can hear the kids out back: laughing and squealing, along with Yaz, Ovi and Chloe's voices and laughter.

A regular goddamn full house, he thinks, as he heads up the stairs, kicking off his flip flips on the porch before heading inside.

"You're back," Esme greets him with a smile as she journeys down the stairs, a miserable and sweaty looking Declan on her hip. His cheeks flushed, hair damp and matted to his forehead. That same chunk of hair…on the exact same side…as his father falling across his forehead and over his eye. "That was quick. I thought you'd be longer."

She pauses on the second last step, making them almost the exact same height, and he lays a hand on her hip and leans in to kiss her in greeting. Then runs a hand over Declan's hair and presses a kiss to his cheek.

"What's a matter, mate? You look pissed."

"He's miserable as all hell. Definitely his teeth. That was probably the shortest nap he's ever had. He just can't settle. Go and see, daddy. He's your favourite anyway."

"Mommy sounds like the grumpy one if you ask me," Tyler says to his son, as the baby reaches out for him, curling tiny arms tightly around his neck and burying his face in his shoulder.

"Mommy is nauseous and has a headache and now a house full of people. When did this become the Rake home for wayward youth?"

"Well they're not here for your cooking, so…"

"You can be such a dick," she complains, yet pecks his lips. "I must be doing something right. You've survived this long. You're not exactly starving. You're heavier and way more jacked now than when we first met. And you were pretty jacked then. How did it go? With Michael McMann? You don't seem to be in a shitty mood so I'm assuming okay?"

"It was…" he pauses in order to find the right word. "…interesting."

"Interesting bad or interesting good?"

"Interesting as pretty fucked up and we need to talk."

"Uh oh," she sighs. "You used that tone when you said 'we need to talk'."

"What tone?" he moves his head from side to side, trying to avoid Declan's curious and prying fingers from finding their way into his eyes, nose, ears, and mouth. And one eventually settles on the chain around his neck and the other grips his hair.

"The one that clearly says I'm not going to like what we have to talk about. The tone you used when I said 'honey, guess what' and told you I was pregnant with this one…" she tickles Declan's side to get a giggle out of him. "…despite being on the pill. Remember? You and your 'you've got to be fucking kidding me'?"

If Millie wasn't a completely unplanned and total surprise, then Declan definitely held that title.

"There's only thing that can explain that happening," he says, as he follows her down the hall into the kitchen. "The fact that I managed to knock you up while on the pill."

"Don't say it, Tyler. For the love of all that is holy, please don't say it."

"Super sperm."

She gives a derisive snort.

"Think about. Millie can be explained. We just wanted to fuck as much as possible and neither of us gave a second thought to protection. So in a way, we kind of asked for her. That was all our own doing. Second one? Twins. We weren't even really planning on a second one and what happens? One turns out to be two. And then this one…" he uses his index finger to push the hair out of Declan's eyes. "…totally unplanned. We were even using protecting that time around. And he still showed up. You know what that means?"

"That my body obviously did not agree with that pill?"

"Keep telling yourself that. It was me. All me. Super sperm."

"This is getting really old," she sighs, and opens the fridge, hand on her hip as she surveys the contents. "You and your super sperm jokes. You honestly do not believe your sperm is somehow out of the ordinary to you? You obviously know that it all had to do with the pill not working for me."

"I'm not hearing what you're saying. It isn't registering. Super sperm. Whether you want to admit it or not."

She sighs, pulling out a jug of what he assumes is either Kool-Aid for the kids or sangria for the adults. He's hoping it's the latter. He could use her feeling lightheaded and happy while he drops the news on her.

"Maybe the boys will get the super sperm too," he continues to tease her. "Something else they can get from me."

"Because it's not enough that they look and act just like you," she stands on her tip toes and still struggles to reach a set of plastic tumblers from the cupboard. "I do all the hard work and they come out your clones. Like what the hell?"

"Be thankful. You could have had kids with your ex and they came out looking like him."

"You make a very valid point," she says, and then tips her head back and smiles up at him when he grabs the offending cups for her. "One of the many reasons I keep you around."

"To get shit off the high shelves?"

"That. And someone has to lift all the heavy stuff."

"What are the other reasons?"

"Hmmm…let me think…" she carries the jug and the cups to the island and begins filling the latter. "…well, you're insanely attractive for one. Two, you've got an amazing body and seriously the most incredible back I have ever seen on a man. Three, did I say insanely attractive yet?"

"Yeah," he grins. "You did."

"So then three is that you're wickedly good in bed and the bringer of multiple orgasms. No woman is going to turn THAT down."

"That's two separate things. So that's three and four."

"It counts as one because they involve sex. But nice try. And maybe…just maybe…I like the sound of your voice and the way you laugh and the way you smile and the way you smell. And I'd really miss all of things if they weren't around anymore. If you weren't around anymore."

"I'm not going anywhere," he promises her, and presses a kiss to her cheek.

"But you're going to Ireland, right?"

He shrugs.

"Don't lie, Tyler. Just tell me yes or no."

"Why don't we talk about it later."

"Oh no…" she shakes her head, and sips from one of the cups. "…you don't get to do that. You don't get an option. You said we need to talk, and we are going to talk. Right now. Before we have to go out there and entertain people with our charming personalities and our fantastic social skills."

He grins. "There's alcohol in that, isn't there."

Her eyes narrow, cup pressed to her lips. "Maybe…"

"Easy, mate, easy," he says to a squirming and kicking Declan, then places him on the ground so he can crawl around. "Give me one," he grabs one of the cups, taking a swig and grimacing. "Jesus Christ! How much did you put in there?"

"Not enough," she tops both of their cups back up. "So? Talk. You said we needed to talk. And you even used 'the tone'. So lets get it over and done with it."

"I don't want to fight."

"I promise you, this will not turn into a fight. We agreed last night that there would be more fighting over this. That we would talk about it like rational sober adults." She frowns. "Okay so maybe one rational sober adult and one rational and not so sober adult. But I swear to you, I will stay calm and I will not lose my shit on you."

"Have more of this first," he suggests, and places a hand under the cup, assisting in pouring more of the drink into her mouth. "Drink the whole thing. Take the edge off. Have another if you need to."

"You're a shit head," she declares, as she coughs and sputters. "Can you please just get it over with? Let's do this before any of the guests come in and everything goes to shit. What did Michael McCann say?"

"They have his wife and his kids. Six-year-old and a four-year-old. Girl and a boy."

"Almost the same age as Millie. And the same age as the twins."

He nods. "They sent him videos. First one was of the wife. Bound, duct tape over her mouth, beaten to shit," he downs the last of his drink and pours another. "Second was the kids. Face down on some shitty ass bed. Hog tied. Duct tape over their eyes. And they were laughing at them. Mocking them. Because they were crying for their father."

Emotion chokes at him, and Esme reaches out and places her hand in the middle of his back, palm moving in slow, comforting circles.

"Fucking bastards," he spits. "Just fucking animals. Who does that? To little kids? I can handle a lot. But that…" he clears his throat noisily. "…I can't handle that."

She continues stroking his back, giving him the chance to compose himself.

"When was the video sent? Do you have current proof of life or…?"

"The video was two weeks ago. But yesterday he was allowed to speak to them. They're being held in separate locations."

"And you know that because…"

"Captors are totally different. They're not the same people. And nothing in the room was the same. Where she was seemed clean. A little more organized and put together. The kids were in some nasty shit hole."

"So what exactly does he want you to do? And how does he even know you? Never mind that, how the hell did he find you?"

"Apparently through you. Says he knows someone you used to work. They told him that you took a job with a Nik Khan and he went from there."

"That doesn't explain how he would tie you and I together. How would he even know I was your wife? It's not like things were broadcasted all over the place after Dhaka."

"He says everyone knows about Dhaka. Everything that went down. So your name must be out there. Someone gave it up."

"Jesus Christ…" she mutters and takes a gulp of her drink.

He reaches out and runs a hand over her hair and down to the back of the neck. Massaging the tense, tight muscles with his thumb and forefinger. "I don't think it matters if people know your name and that we're married. This isn't about us in anyway. This is all about him. There's no one after us."

"What does he want from you? Like, are you not allowed to be happy? Are you not allowed to have a normal life? Have a wife and kids and all the things that come with it?"

"He wants me help. He needs my help."

"He doesn't know anyone else? Why you?"

"He says I'm the only person for the job. That the people he knows aren't capable of doing the things I am. And he's right. They're not. He knows that. I know that. Even you know that."

Sighing heavily, she finishes her drink and considers pouring another. Instead, she turns to face him and puts her head in his chest, hands on his hips.

"You're going to Ireland," she says.

He nods. "I'm going to Ireland."

"When?"

"He says no longer than thirty-six hours. He'd probably like it to be sooner."

"Goddamnit, Tyler. Why are you doing this?"

"Because he needs me. And because we'd want someone to help me if it was you and my kids," he places his hands on either side of her face, tilts her head back so she's looking up at him. "And one day it could be."

"Don't think about things like that. Please. Just don't even think them, let alone speak them. I thought we'd have longer than this. You said we'd have longer than this."

He presses his lips to her forehead. "I'm sorry."

"We're supposed to be trying to have a baby. That's pretty hard to do when you're leaving and I don't even know when the hell you're going to be back."

"I'll be back when the job is over. As soon as it is. And then we can make all kinds of babies. Or at least have fun trying."

"Twenty-four hours. Can you at least give it that? Twenty-four hours with your kids. Twenty-four hours with me. Can you at least do that?"

He nods, then pushes her hair behind her ears and kisses her. Long and soft and heart-breakingly sweet.

"Don't you die on me over there, Tyler Rake. You almost died on me once. Don't pull that bullshit again."

"I won't," he promises.

And that's one promise he plans on keeping.


	15. Chapter 15

He sits with Nik on the back deck, nursing a bottle of beer while she sips a sangria. Both watching through the lenses of their sunglasses as Esme -with the baby on her hip- teaches a squeamish Yaz how to feed and tend to the chickens and goats. The latter bitches and groans in a combination of disgust and discomfort while Esme good naturedly teases him; her laughter floating on the breeze. Noticing the amount of patience she shows when the older kids interrupt or ask for her attention; the smile on her face and the kisses and the cuddles she gives, the bright eyed interest and enthusiasm she shows over even the smallest and most trivial of things. And Tyler can’t help but smile as he watches her with them. The love of his life and the beautiful little beings they have managed to create together.

“She’s a good mom,” Nik comments, her glass pressed to her lips.

“She’s an amazing mom. I’m lucky. They’re lucky. I never have to worry about them when they’re with her. Even when I’m thousands of miles away. There’s nothing she wouldn’t do for them.”

“Or for you,” Nik adds, and he nods as his smile broadens. “It’s strange,” she continues. “Seeing her like this. As a mom. As a wife, even. Considering I know what her life was like before you.”

It is a startling change. From an almost nomad like existence to a home of her own. Years of travelling from place to place throughout North America, going wherever the demands of the job took her. Never forming bonds of relationships. Always unsettled and searching for more but never quite finding that one place that made her mind, body, and soul feel content and relaxed. 

The past…her past is behind her now. She’s genuinely happy. At peace with the decisions she’s made and the path she’s taken to get where she is. Enjoying being rooted to one place and the life that comes with being a wife and a mother. Thriving on the routine, the domesticity, the stability. No more living out of suitcases and never quite knowing where life would take her, where she’d lay her head at night.

“And the same goes for you,” she gives him a backhand slap to the knee. “This isn’t exactly the future I saw for you.”

“It isn’t exactly the future I saw for myself,” he admits.

Six years ago, he’d been drowning himself in booze and prescription meds in an a vain attempt to quiet the demons and numb the both the physical and mental pain. Painfully close to just putting a gun to his head and ending it all. Living in that dump in the outback with nothing but a chicken, dog, and the monsters in his own closet keeping him company. He had convinced himself that he was happy that way. Alone. Secluded. And it hadn’t been until those five days in that shit hole motel room in Dhaka that he’d realized just how miserable he actually was. Just how desperate he had become to fill that gapping and festering hole in both his life and his heart. 

And she’d been there. Just as broken and battered as he was. Maybe it was a relationship that had been built on need and desperation. Maybe it hadn’t been the perfect start to things. People talk about love at first sight, but it was far from that. It was lust. A primal and animalistic need to use and be used. Neither of them actually looking for something more than that, but not exactly fighting the feelings that began to take hold yet neither would openly admit to.

It took five days for him to want more. To actually consider that it may be just more than two needy people settling for what was right in front of them. But it would take months for him to realize that he was in love with her and wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. When she’d been six months pregnant with his daughter and they were struggling to getting used to living under the same roof. Discovering all the things they liked about one another and those that drove them absolutely insane.  
He’d just looked at her one morning and it had been as if a light switch had been flicked on for the first time. Seeing her standing in front of the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door, a frown on her face and a hand on either side of her stomach. She’d hated the way she’d looked; overnight her baby bump just seemed to take over and none of her clothes fit and she’d been relegated to wearing a pair of stretchy leggings and one of his t-shirts. 

“Don’t stare at me,” she’d all but pleaded, dangerously close to tears. She had despised the way her body looked while simultaneously loving the way the baby moved and kicked. Excited yet absolutely terrified at the same time at the thought of becoming a mother. “I look hideous.”

To him, she’d been the most beautiful thing in the entire world. And he’d told her so. What could possibly be more beautiful than seeing someone grow bigger with your child? There was a sense of pride and accomplishment in it; knowing that you were responsible -at least partly- for that little human being that was thriving and growing inside of someone. And he’d stood behind her, his hands settling on hers as they rested on her belly, a grin on his face as their child…his child…moved inside of her. 

“Marry me.”

That’s all it had been. Two simple words. There’d been no ring. No grand gesture. No getting down on one knee. Just those words and the two of them and their unborn baby, standing there in that bathroom.

After that, he’d made sure he told her he loved her as often as possible. He never wanted her to forget. Never wanted her to think that he was with her out of a sense of obligation and not because he truly wanted to be with her. 

*****

“It looks good on you, Tyler,” Nik says. “This kind of life. It’s done a world of good for you. She’s done a world of good for you.”

He knows it pains her to say that out loud. That there’s still some lingering bitterness hanging in the air. Nik had wanted more, he hadn’t. And he’d known he never would. They were far better as friends than they’d ever been as lovers. Even now, if he was single, he wouldn’t be able to give her what she wanted. What she deserved. He simply wasn’t the person for her. No matter how badly she wanted him to be.

“You know,” he stretches out his legs, placing one foot on the deck railing. “You could have this, Nik.”

She smirks. “How bold of you to assume I want this.”

“I don’t mean that. I don’t mean this exact life. This exact place. And I don’t mean me. I mean this kind of existence. A place to call home. A husband. Kids.”

“I’d rather just spoil your kids rotten and then leave you to deal with them. This is the life you wanted, Tyler. The life you deserved. And you found someone that could give you that. Or someone that you actually wanted all of that with.”

Her words…and the implications…hang in the air between them.

“We talked about this,” he says. “More than once.”

“I gave you an option.”

“But my answer wasn’t the one you wanted to hear, was it. I wasn’t in a good place at the time, Nik. I wouldn’t have been good for you. I wasn’t even good for myself.”

“And now?”

“And now I’m a married man with four kids. And we are not having this conversation with my wife a hundred meters away. I’m not going to disrespect her like that. You’re not going to disrespect her like that.”

She’d been hopeful. That things wouldn’t pan out between him and Esme. That they’d get maybe six months to a year of marriage under their belts before deciding that it was a mistake. That he’d admit that he’d been lonely and needy and desperate and latched onto her out of necessity, not actual love. But then the twins had come along, and things only seemed to grow stronger between them. Even when Tyler had gotten back into the game without even telling his wife about it, it hadn’t been enough to break them.  
Their bond is powerful. Unbreakable. A force to be reckoned with. 

“You’re friends,” he says, and sips his beer. 

“So are we.”

“And that’s all we’re ever going to be.”

She blinks at the harsh honesty of his statement. 

“I love my wife, Nik. I love my children. I love the life I have. And I’m sorry if that’s not what you want to hear. I’m sorry if that hurts your feelings. But it’s not going to happen. It was never going to happen. Even if Esme never came into the picture. Even if I’d never met her.”

She nods slowly, letting his words sink in. It wasn’t the first time where’d she suggested it. That she could be there for him in ways that maybe his wife couldn’t. She knows that they fight a lot; two ferociously stubborn and temperamental people. She could be the person he could turn to when things got tough. Or when he was tired of the ‘same old, same old’ and wanted a change of pace. A different body to explore and experience. And every time he looks at her as if she’s gone insane. That it’s the most disgusting thing he’s ever heard.

“I’m not going to cheat on my wife, Nik. I’ve told you that how many times already? It’s not going to change.”

She opens her mouth to respond, but changes her mind when Millie comes bounding onto the deck and climbs into her father’s lap. She’s a precious little thing; long and lanky with unruly light brown hair and enormous blue eyes framed by dark, impossibly long lashes. Her father’s mini me. The appearance, the facial expressions, the mannerisms. The way she smiles and laughs. And Nik watches them together; the kisses and the cuddles that are exchanged, the way those large, powerful hands -so capable of inflicting unspeakable punishment and even death- gently removes brightly coloured plastic barrettes and fixes wayward strands of hair and snaps the little holders back in place. 

It is surreal in a sense; this strong, powerful man exhibiting such tenderness and care. He’s a good dad; Nik can’t deny that. Patient and nurturing, making up for all of the things that he hadn’t been given growing up. And his smiles are soft and genuine. His voice lighter. 

“You were definitely made to be a girl dad,” she remarks, and he gives a little chuckle, one of the plastic hair clips open, one end between his teeth as his hands gather up some of his daughter’s thick locks. She knows that being a father to boys has been much easier on him; they’re rough and tumble, like him. But he excels in taking care of that little girl. “You make it look so easy.”

“We just go with it, right Millie?” he finishes fixing her hair and tickles her stomach. “We just keep on, keeping on, yeah?”

She nods in agreement, kneeling on his thighs and giving him a noisy kiss before flopping down onto his lap. Moving herself onto her side, she tucks her knees into her chest and rests her head against him. Those big blue eyes riveted on Nik. A scowl on that sweet little face. There’s uneasiness in her expression. 

Distrust, even.

“Auntie Nik?” she asks, and Nik glances over at her.

“You’re here to take daddy away, aren’t you.”

It’s a statement. Not a question.

“No one’s taking me away,” Tyler assures her, dropping a kiss on the top of her head and then running a finger on the bottom of one of her bare feet. The tickling sensation enough to get at least a small smile out of her. “We talked about this. I already told you that Auntie Nik was just coming to visit.”

“I don’t want you to take daddy away,” Millie continues. “He was just gone for a really long time. Get someone else to go and fight the bad guys. Someone else’s daddy.”

“No one’s daddy is going anywhere,” he promises. 

“He’s my daddy,” it sounds as if she may cry. “Not anyone else’s. You can’t have him.”

“Amelia…” he uses her full name, voice gentle yet stern, and when she tips her head back to look at him, he gives a reassuring smile and kisses the tip of her nose. “…no one is here to take me away. They’re just here to visit. That’s it.”

“I don’t want you going to fight the bad guys,” her lower lip wobbles, tears sparkling in her eyes. “What if the bad guys hurt you? What if you don’t come back?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he repeats. “I already told you that. And if I was, nothing could stop me from coming home. To you and your mom and your brothers.”

“And Macaroni too?”

“Yes. Even Mac.”

“That’s not his name, daddy,” she scolds, and Nik can’t help but grin. There’s something so sweet and pure about the way she says it. It’s a simple five letter word. But Nik can tell that to Tyler, it means the world. That there’s no greater title in his mind than daddy.

“Even Macaroni,” he pushes her hair off her brow, presses his kiss to the smooth skin. “We already talked about this, remember? About the bad guys?”

She nods.

“The bad guys don’t stand a chance against me. Nothing could stop me from coming home. You’ve got nothing to worry about, okay?”

Another nod, and she pecks his lips and then settles against his once more. Cheek against his chest, a thumb shoved in her mouth. Resisting when he removes it not once, but twice. 

“I’ll chop it off,” he warns.

“No…” she shakes her head. “…you won’t. Mommy would be mad at you.”

“You think I’m not used to that by now? She’s always mad at me about something,” he gently takes her by the wrist and pulls her hand away from her face. “Enough. You’re a big girl now. Big girls don’t suck their thumbs. Do you think princesses suck their thumbs?”

She nods.

“I can guarantee you they don’t. You’re not a baby. Declan’s a baby and even he doesn’t suck his thumb.”  
“He has a soother,” she reasons.

“Do you want me to ask him to go borrow it? You can use that instead of your thumb?”

She frowns. 

“Exactly. Because soothers are for babies and you’re not a baby. Stop,” he removes her hand once again. “Just stop.”

She relents. Abandoning her thumb in lieu or reaching up and taking hold of one of his ears. Taking the edge between her thumb and forefinger and gently rubbing it. A habit she’d developed as a baby, when he’d feed her in the middle of the night and she’d use stroking his ear to soothe herself back to sleep. A harmless, yet remarkably successfully little trick she’d taught herself.

Five years later it still works. Within minutes she’s lulled to sleep by the feel of his skin under her fingertips and the beating off his heart against her, her arms falling slack at her sides.

Nik sets her drink on the deck, standing long enough to slip out of her sweater and drape it over the little girl’s sleeping form. Playfully and affectionately tousling Tyler’s hair when he gives her a smile and a wink of gratitude.

“There’ll be hell to pay if anyone dares try and take her daddy away,” Nik grins, sipping her drink.

“Yeah…she’s a little…protective.”

“I wonder where she gets that from,” she winks at him. “You’ve become quite protective in your old age. Since becoming a husband and a father.”

Sometimes he wonders if he’s too protective. If it borders on being controlling and possessive. But there is good reason to be the way he is; the choices of the pasts and the toes that he’s stepped on and the enemies he’s made.

“She had a nightmare the other night,” Tyler says, as he carefully adjusts his hold on Millie; her body still pressed tightly against him, legs stretched out across him, her head now cradled in the crook of his arm. “About the bad guys.”

“The bad guys?”

“Ovi told her what I do for a living. When I’m not home. He didn’t do it to cause issues and I know that. But I still want to strangle him. It caused a whole world of shit. Nightmares, sucking her thumb, not wanting to sleep in her own bed.”

“She’s worried. She loves her daddy. She doesn’t want anything bad happening to you. She’s still a baby, Tyler. You can’t blame her for acting like one. Look at her…” she reaches over and pushes hair away from Millie’s face. “…she’s just so perfect, isn’t she? Who knew that someone like you could make something like this.”

He grins. “Are you calling me ugly?”

“You know what I meant. The old Tyler never would have had this chance. He never would have allowed himself to have all of this. And you let your guard down. All those walls that you built up. You let someone tear them all down. And now look at you. Look what you’ve done. You’ve managed to create a life. A perfect little human being. Four perfect little human beings.”

“If one good thing came out of the shitty Dhaka mess, it was her. It’s weird. Things were so fucked up and so messy yet in the middle of all that, Esme and I made her.”

“You guys should have another one. Or two.”

He chuckles. “I thought you hated kids.”

“I do not hate kids. I love kids. Other peoples’ kids. Especially your kids. But that doesn’t mean I feel an overwhelming need to have my own. But you and Esme are good at it. You’re amazing parents. Not to mention you two make insanely beautiful babies.”

“Yeah…” he smiles down at his sleeping daughter. “…it’s one of the things we’re good at, I guess. Well, that and the actual making of babies.”

She snorts.

“We want another one,” he says. “We’re trying. Actively.”

“Going to Ireland puts a wrench in things, don’t you think.”

“I’m coming back, Nik. I can help make babies when I get back. And just…” he places a finger against his lips. “…none of the kids know. And I want to keep it that way for now.”

“You leave in twenty-four hours,” she points out.

“Which means I have about twenty-three hours and fifty minutes before I have to tell them.”

“Tyler…” she sighs. 

“All hell is going to break loose when I do. The boys are going to lose their shit. And Millie…” he adjusts the sweater keeping her warm. “…well it’s not going to be pretty. I need time, Nik. Time with them and time with my wife.”

She nods in agreement, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder in a symbolic gesture of understanding and comfort.

“Everything is going to be fine,” she assures him. “You’re going to get back here in one piece. You always do.”

“There’s always that one time where things can really fuck up,” he reasons, and noisily clears his throat. The emotion raw. Powerful.

It’s the first time where he’s been this obsessed over the thought of something going wrong. The thought is always there; tucked into the back of your mind. But this time it’s all consuming. 

The fear that this time things are going to go so goddamn bad that there isn’t going to be a way out.

****

After dinner they lounge in plastic lawn chairs around a campfire. Leaving Ovi and Chloe in charge of the kids inside; movies, junk food, a fort made out of the sheets and couch cushions in the living room. Tyler can feel his buzz; he’d long ago lost track of exactly how many beers and cups of Sangria he’d consumed, but he does distinctly remember Yaz bringing out a rare bottle of tequila that he’d purchased in El Salvador and just felt the need to share. 

He’s not drunk. He remembers that feeling all to well. He’d spent years in a near constant drunken stupor. But he’s relaxed. His mind is fuzzy. Like being underwater and hearing voices around you but not quite able to make out what they’re saying. And the fire is mesmerizing; eyes riveted on the flickering of the orange and yellow flames, lulled further into a state of comfort by both the sight and the heat that the fire is giving off. 

“That is not how I remember it Yaz,” Esme is saying, as she sits down on the ground in front of Tyler, wearing a pair of faded old sweats and one of his hoodies, a ball cap on her head. And he’s vaguely aware of the weight of her body as she leans back against his legs. “That girl was in no way over eighteen.”

“She said she was twenty-three!” Yaz argues. 

“She had a Hello Kitty backpack and a purple sparkly eye shadow,” Nik points out.

“See! See!” Esme gestures at her friend with the drink in her hand. “You knew it too! It was so obvious! That is just so nasty, Yaz. Every time I think about it, I want to puke.”

“I didn’t know she was that young! I obviously wouldn’t have made a move if she was!”

Tyler can barely remember the incident they’re talking about. The last time they’d all taken a vacation together. Before Declan was even conceived. They’d left Millie and the twins with Esme’s folks and had taken off to Cuba. He thinks he can remember the girl in question; overly permed hair, jean shorts that barely covered her ass, a bikini top. It’s all a blur, even when he is one hundred percent sober. The tequila had flowed nonstop that night. 

He does remember dragging his wife off to the bathroom and fucking her in one of the stalls though. Much to the dismay of the people banging on the door who needed to get in to take a leak.

“Your taste in women is questionable regardless of their age,” Nik remarks. “Which is probably why you’re still single.”

“Too many bar sluts,” Esme reasons. “You can’t turn a whore into a housewife.”

“I don’t know about that,” Yaz smirks. “Tyler did it with you.”

“Oh you did not!” she shrieks and tosses an empty plastic cup at him while Nik slaps him upside the head. “I will kick your ass! I will kill you in your sleep! I know where you live, Yaz!”

As brother and sister bicker back and forth, Tyler lays his hands on his wife’s shoulders, kneading the taut and tense muscles. She’s put on a good show all day; laughing and chattering and joking around, no doubt the amount of booze she’s consumed playing a huge role in her ability to cope. He knows it is haunting her. His inevitable departure. That she’s counting down every hour…maybe even minute… until he’s walking about the front door. 

She tilts her head back and smiles up at him. “You okay? You’re really quiet. More quiet than usual.”

“I’m okay,” he assures her, and removing the ball cap from her head, turns it backwards so her lips are easily accessible; leaning over her to cover her mouth with his in a long, slow, deep kiss.

“Yeah, we don’t need to see this!” Yaz exclaims. “You want to bang, go do it inside.”

“Don’t be salty,” Esme retorts. “Just because you’ve had to resort to this…” she makes a jerking off motion with her left hand. “…for months.”

“It’s only been weeks,” he argues.

“You lie!” Nik chimes in. “It’s been months. Don’t listen to him. It’s been at least two.”

“How the hell would you know? You’re my sister! You don’t know anything about my sex life.”

“First off, we live together. Second, the walls are extremely thin. I know more than you realize, lonely boy.”

Everyone laughs at his expense, then silence falls upon the group. Eyes all riveted on the fire in front of them, each lost in their own little word of thoughts and worries. Esme brings her hands up to rest on Tyler’s, pressing a kiss to the inside of his wrist before slipping her fingers through his.

“So what are you really doing here, Nik?” he asks. “You said there was something we needed to talk about.”

“A business proposition. From both Yaz and I.”

Esme shifts uncomfortably in front of him and grabs his beer -sitting in the grass alongside his chair- and takes a swig.

“What kind of business proposition?”

“We are expanding,” Yaz explains. “Into North America.”

“Business is that good?”

Nik nods. “Business has been booming. Especially since Dhaka.”

“Yeah, I can see how someone nearly dying an extremely bloody and gruesome public death could drive up the numbers,” Esme remarks, and her husband tightens his hold on her shoulders in an effort to keep her calm.

“We don’t have the manpower that we need to make it successful,” Nik continues. “Yaz and I need to keep working on things on the international end.”

“So hire more people,” Tyler says. “What do I have to do with it?”

“We need someone that we can trust running things over here,” Yaz comments. “Someone that knows how the business runs. So has actually experience being out on the streets, right in the thick of things. Someone who hasn’t just talked the walk, but walked the walk.”

“We need someone…we want someone…that those we hire aspire to be like,” Nik adds. “Someone they both fear and respect. Someone they know they can trust and rely on because they know what it’s like to be out there, putting their ass on the line.”

“We want you to run things over here,” Yaz says. “You’re the best person for the job. Everyone knows who you are. They’ve all heard the stories. Seen the numbers. They all know what you’re capable of.”  
“And you take no shit,” his sister adds. “You’re assertive and aggressive and you won’t back down or take no for an answer. That’s what we need.”

Tyler smirks. “I’m not a boss, Nik. Far from it. I work better on my own and you know it.”

“You’re perfect for this,” she argues. “You know the ins and the outs. You’ve been doing the job for years. You’re the most successful and feared mercenary we have. Which is what makes you so good for this. And you’ve got leadership skills. You were a lieutenant in the army, after all.”

“And you have kids,” Yaz pipes up. “That’s like being a boss.”

Tyler laughs. “There’s a huge difference between taking care of kids and babysitting adults. And the last thing I want to be doing is holding someone’s hand or coddling them through a mission. I wipe dirty asses and snotty noses at home. I don’t need to be doing it at work too.”

“That’s why we’d trust you to train them,” Nik tells him. “Or find the right people to help train them. We’d set everything up. A proper office, facilities, access to weapons and ammunition, technology. Everything you’d need. Esme could even help.”

“Leave me out of this,” Esme says. “Those days are long behind me. I’d much rather just stay doing what I’m doing and be blissfully ignorant when it comes to what the three of you are up do.”

“We know how to use the weapons but you know everything there is to know about how they’re put together and what makes them work,” Nik points out. “If anyone can help build an effective arsenal, it’s you. You’ve got the knowledge and the hands on experience.”

“She has a point,” Tyler says, as much as it pains him to admit it. The thought of her getting back in the game in any respect is disheartening. Even if it is just behind the scenes. Any connection to the job, indirectly or directly, puts her, and especially, the kids more at risk. 

She tips her head back to regard her husband. “You’re actually considering this?”

“There’d be more time at home,” Nik tells them. “We can build something right here. Or even in Denver. Somewhere close enough that you’re not gone for days or weeks at a time.”

“So he wouldn’t have to actually go out on a job?” Esme inquires.

“Only if he was desperately needed. If things completely fall apart on a mission and there’s no other choice. We need you to run the operation, Tyler. To get it off the ground and keep it there. Esme knows intel. She can get the word out there.”

“Esme would prefer not to be volunteered at this time,” Esme pipes up. “Until Esme hears everything that needs to be heard.”

“You have more feelers out there than anyone I know,” Nik reminds her. “You know things…people…that I’d never encountered before in the years I’ve been doing this. You’ve built relationships with people.”

“No, what I’ve done is lie to people and trick people into thinking we had a relationship. Half my connections aren’t even in the game anymore. They’re either dead or they’ve moved on to bigger and better things. Or just decided to have normal lives.”

“Which means half of your people are still out there,” Yaz tosses out. “You’ve still got connections out there.”

“Connections I haven’t spoken to in five years. It isn’t as easy as you all think it is. It isn’t as simple as picking up the phone and calling people and touching base with them. It doesn’t work that way. Any trust these people had in me is gone. I totally ghosted them and practically disappeared off the face of the earth. They aren’t going to just blindly trust me after five years. And it’s dangerously naïve to think otherwise.”

“But essentially you could do it,” Nik points out. “Or at least try.”

“I’ve burnt a lot of bridges. Ones that definitely can not and should not be repaired. This is dangerous, Nik. Just putting myself back out there. If I was the person I was six years ago, I’d say I’m in. No questions asked. But I have a lot to lose. I’ve got four kids that need me. And if I cross the wrong person, it won’t end well.”

“That’s where Tyler comes in,” Yaz says. “To make sure that kind of thing doesn’t happen. He’s more than capable of protecting you. Of protecting all of you.”

“But he shouldn’t have to, Yaz, That’s my point. Some of these people…these people that trusted me…are not the kind of people you want to fuck with. When I ghosted them, I essentially betrayed them. I just can’t call them and be like ‘hey…here I am! Remember me? Tell me everything I’ve missed in five years!’. It does not work that way. They would kill me before they ever told me another thing. I spent weeks…months…with some of these people. Worming my way into their lives, getting them to trust me, making them open up. These are powerful people, Nik. Scary people. And the things they’ve told me, they would kill over. No questions asked. So you can’t just throw me back in and expect that to happen.”

“But you could try,” Tyler speaks up. “You could gradually get back into things and put the feelers out there.”

“Okay, I don’t think any of you are grasping the seriousness of what I’m saying. It’s one thing to go in and kick some ass and totally humiliate the Amir Asif’s of the world. It’s another to completely betray them. To know their deepest and darkest secrets and use them against them. And I’m surprised you…” she squeezes her husband’s hand. “…are even considering getting me involved. Because you’re the one who distinctly told me that you liked having me at home to take care of things on this end and raise the kids. That’s what you wanted. A housewife.”

“It wouldn’t be a full time thing,” he responds. “Just when you’re needed. And you don’t even have to leave the house to do it. I just get you a secure line and that’s it. So no one can trace the calls back to here.”

“It’s not as simple as you think it is, Tyler. These things take time. I have to build entirely new connections. I have to try and rebuild ones I’ve lost without getting myself killed. Without our kids killed. Your kids.”

“Like Yaz said, I’m more than capable of protecting all of you. And if I’m home more, then you wouldn’t have to worry about being alone here with them.”

“Okay…hold up a second…Nik…Yaz…cover your ears…” she turns around to face him. “…ummm excuse me, but did we not just agree to have another baby? Because I specifically remember giving in to your request.”

“That doesn’t need to change. You wouldn’t be putting yourself in physical danger.”

“You don’t know what some of these people are capable of.”

“I’ve seen…first hand…what some of these people are capable of. Five years ago, especially. Or are we just conveniently forgetting about that?”

“This is different. These people…when they’re betrayed…they are monsters, Tyler. They are beyond reproach. They won’t balk at killing me or your kids. They are very good at very revenge. You don’t realize exactly what you’re asking me to do.”

“I’m asking you to trust me.”

“I do trust you. But I don’t think you’re fully grasping the seriousness of this. How can you guarantee that nothing will happen?”

“Because it won’t. Not while I’m here. And you heard Nik. I’d only have to go out on a job if things fuck up.”

“Oh you mean like just recently when you were supposed to home after four days and didn’t get back for fourteen? You mean that kind of fuck up?”

“There won’t be any fuck ups if I’m running things.”

“I’m sorry, I love you, but that is dangerously arrogant and you know it. I said I was fine with you going to Ireland. I’m even fine with you running things for Nik. But I’m not okay with you just throwing me to the wolves like this.”

“I’m not…”

“I need time,” she says, as she turns back to face the others. “This isn’t a decision I can make lightly. I need time to think and I need time to talk about this with Tyler. Even if he doesn’t think we need to talk about anything anymore.”

He sighs. 

“How long do you need?” Nik asks.

“How long can you give me?” Esme counters.

“I want to have things up and running in a month. I can give you a week. Two tops.”

“Fine,” she reluctantly agrees.

Two weeks. Fourteen days. A tiny fraction of time in which to make a decision that could either make or break your entire life.


	16. Chapter 16

“You're a natural,” Esme comments the next morning, as she and Nik lounge on a park bench; Yaz keeping the kids busy and laughing hysterically over his antics on the playground equipment. 

They've all become restless being cooped up in the house with nothing more to do than count down the hours and minutes before Tyler leaves for Ireland. Opting to head into town for a late breakfast and some window shopping before taking the kids to burn off some of their excess energy. Tyler and Ovi had been gone for better part of the morning and wouldn't return to some time in the early afternoon; time at the shooting range, lunch, and long overdue talk about his expectations for the teenager while he was gone.

“I've never been told that before,” Nik laughs, as Declan bounces happily on her lap; tiny feet planted on her thighs, hands on her shoulders, her own resting on his hips to help keep him steady. He's a cute little thing: strawberry blond hair (inherited from Tyler's mother), huge, brilliant blue eyes, and quite possibly the most adorable smile and giggle she's ever seen or heard. Out of the four, he'd been the biggest: an impressive nine pounds, ten ounces. “Normally I'm told how uncomfortable I look.”

Nik remembers when Tyler had to actually teach her how to hold Millie. Back in nursery in that little apartment in Australia. How nervous she'd been when that impossibly tine baby had been placed in her arms. Never had she held something so fragile. Helpless. Priceless. A little human being that depended solely on her to keep them safe.

She's perfectly content being 'Auntie Nik'; she can spoil them rotten and love endlessly on them yet hand them back to their parents at the end of the day. With each passing birth, she's gotten more accustomed to the actual nurturing parts. She can feed them. Burp them. Bathe them. Clothe them. And is now able to successfully change a soiled diaper without promptly vomiting.

“You don't look uncomfortable to me,” Esme says, as she adjusts the snap closure on the back of Declan's baseball cap and then slips it back onto his head. “And he obviously doesn't think so either. Look how happy he is. He adores you.”

As terrible as it sounds to even to Nik's own ears, Declan is her favourite. He's vibrant and full of life; always smiling or giggling and very rarely crying of fusing. Infinitely curious. Simply loving life and everyone and everything in it. The twins rarely bother with her; they're head strong and wild, whereas she's very strict and routine orientated. Millie is a character all on her own. Five going on fifteen, full of sass and attitude. Never backing down from a challenge and very rarely showing any signs of fear. Very much her father's daughter. Right down to the bad habit of immediately distrusting others and shutting them out.

“You're a strong little thing,” Nik says to the baby, laughing and wriggling away from the hands that try to latch onto her sunglasses. “You're going to be walking in no time, I think. Those are some powerful legs you've got there! I remember when you were still in your mommy's belly and you would kick her hard enough to make her cry sometimes.”

“There were a couple times he nearly brought me to my knees,” Esme recalls, shaking her head in disbelief. “Like he would just get all that power into that one kick and just let me have it. If Tyler was lying up against me, it would even wake him up sometimes. All the kicking and the rolling around. You've just never sat still,” she addresses her son, tickling his stomach. “Always on the go! Even then. You never wanted to settle and now look at you. Still going about with your nonsense.”

“You're going to grow up and be big and strong just like your daddy,” Nik says. “You'll be able to put your older brothers in their places, that's for sure. And you'll be able to protect your sister from any mean boys in the neighbourhood. Or beat up any boyfriends that don't treat her right.”

“Boyfriends,” Esme laughs. “Bold of you to assume that Tyler is ever going to let her date.”

“Is he still bent out of shape over that? He's probably just worried because he remembers what he was like when he was a teenager. He doesn't want her bringing him any boys like him.”

“I can imagine how my dad would have reacted to me bringing Tyler home. That would not have gone well. I'm the first girl after three boys. He would have taken one look at Tyler and the hair and the tattoos and promptly kicked him out of the house. Trust me, that is not what he wanted for his daughter. Someone with an edge. He would have taken one look at him and that would have been it. I love my dad, but he definitely would not have approved. He would not have even given it a chance to get to know him. My dad had a certain vision for how my life would go. And a guy like Tyler was not part of that vision.”

“What kind of guy was he hoping for?”

“None, preferably,” she laughs. “He wanted the white-collar type. Boring. Simple. Vanilla. And as you already know, there is absolutely nothing vanilla about Tyler. In any aspect of his life. He's a little...”

“Wild?” Nik offers.

“Edgy. Dark. Dangerous. Fearless. A mystery. The type my father definitely did not want me to end up. I think once he realized I wasn't going to give in and stay away from him, he would have come around. Even teenage me would have been unable to stay away. I can't explain it. What exactly it is. But I felt it in Dhaka. Maybe I even felt it when I walked into his place in the outback. There was something different about him. Something irresistible, despite your brain and your heart telling you to just walk away. It was impossible. In Dhaka. I couldn't stop it. I didn't want to stop it.”

Nik completely understands. She'd felt it too; the minute she'd met him a little more than ten years ago. He’d been a challenge. An enigma. And she hadn't been able to stop going to his bed even though she'd known he'd never want her for anything more than that. No matter how many times he told her, no matter how many times he insisted that he'd never want anything more, she'd held out hope. And sometimes she still did.

****

She hates how it still makes her feel; the bitterness that eats away at her when she sees them together. It’s been a little more than five years and it is still so hard. To accept the way things are. Even when it’s so blatantly obvious how happy Tyler is. How much he relishes and thrives on being a husband and a father. How it has brought out a light within him; a sense of peace and contentment that had been absent from his life since his son died, and his first marriage disintegrated. And she should be happy about that. That he’s far removed from the Tyler Rake that existed in that little shack in the outback. That he’d given himself the chance to actually be happy; that he’d let someone break down those walls and show him what it is like to be wanted and loved. But it’s difficult. He hadn’t wanted that person to be her. And now she had to sit back and watch as his life went on. A spectator to just how wildly and crazily in love he is with someone else.

“Have you given it much thought?” Esme asks. “About having your own family?”

“I have a family. I have Yaz. The team. All of you.”

“You know what I mean, Nik,” she sips at a takeout cup of piping hot ginger and lemon tea; a rather potent smelling concoction that she swears help calm her stomach and her bad nerves.

“I’m a much better Auntie than a mother. I’m too selfish. I enjoy what I do too much. I like being able to come and go as I please. Nothing tying me down. No one I have to answer to. That kind of life was never meant for someone like me.”

“Six years ago, you could have said the same thing about Tyler. That this kind of life wasn’t meant for someone like him.’

“That’s different. He wasn’t allowing himself to have this life. He hated himself too much. He was a mess and didn’t want to bring anyone else into it. But he thrives on this kind of existence. And he needed it. The stability. Someone to come home to. Kids that love and idolize him. Things that give him a purpose. Could imagine where he’d be if you’d never come along? He would have let himself die that day on the bridge. I’m sure of that.”

“Sometimes it seems like a lifetime ago,” Esme sighs. “And then there’s other days where it seems like it was just yesterday. I’ve made peace with it. I’ve put it behind me. But sometimes…I don’t know…sometimes it just creeps up on me. Something just brings it back to the surface. I try not to let it get to me. But it’s in there. I can feel it.”

“You’re probably just on edge because he’s leaving,” Nik suggests, as she places the baby down on a blanket that lays spread out at their feet, then accepts the cup of coffee that Esme had been babysitting for her. “Are you feeling okay? The way you’re drinking that stuff, you’re not…”

“Oh my god no. There is no bun in this oven. Not yet anyway. It is definitely just bad nerves. And stress. I am so stressed, Nik. Not just about this. This is just the icing on the proverbial shit cake.”

“Talk to me. What’s going on? Are things okay with you and Tyler?”

“For once, it actually has nothing to do with him. I mean, other than the fact he’s leaving in eight hours and I have no idea when he’ll be back. If he’ll be back.”

The word ‘if’ hangs heavily in the air. It’s always a possibility that things will go to hell. That the job won’t go nearly as easily and seamlessly as hoped. It very rarely does. And there’s always that possibility that this mission may be the last one. That one bullet in the chamber with your named etched on it.

“It’s just stupid stuff,” Esme continues. “It’s Millie and the way she regresses like she does. It’s my parents and the fact my stepdad has been cheating on my mom for years and now they’re not even living in the same house. It’s my brothers and their relationship drama. And my sister. She’s met this guy and she’s dropped out of college and no one knows where the hell she is. And then there’s the ex husband.”

Nik arches an eyebrow.  
“I guess he’s been friends with my mother all this time. Since things fell apart. And she had the nerve to tell him where I was. Address and all. He showed up at the house, Nik. When I wasn’t even there. He actually spoke to Tyler.”

Nik smirks. “And he lived to tell about it? Maybe Tyler is starting to slip.”

“He should have just killed him. No one would miss Mark. Not even his own parents. Well maybe my mother would. How screwed up is that? That she’s stayed friends with him but she hates Tyler? That she holds Mark up on some kind of pedestal but treats Tyler like he belongs in the gutter? It makes no sense.”

“She has it in her head that he took you away from her,” Nik reasons. “One day you left and never came back. You said you were going on a business trip and then you’re calling to say that you’ve met someone and you’re staying in Australia.”

“It was nearly six years ago. She needs to get a grip. He’s my husband. Whether she likes it or not. And he’s the father of my kids. Her grandchildren. You’d think that would mean something to her. He’s not a bad guy. You know that, Nik. He’s a big, strong man with an even bigger heart.”

“With the right people,” Nik stresses. “That’s the important thing here. Only with the people that he allows himself to be that way with.”

“It’s just so frustrating. That she just can’t give him a chance. Even if it’s just for the sake of her grandchildren. He went to see her the other day. She called him and asked him if he would drive up. Said they needed to talk,” she rolls her eyes at the last part, sips her tea.

“About what?”

“Who knows. Tyler came home and never even brought it up. And I know better than to ask. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in the past five and a bit years, is hat it’s better if you just sit back and let him decide when he wants to talk about things. You know what he’s like. He likes to keep shit in.”

“Until he snaps and it all comes out.”

“Exactly. Which I’ve pointed out many times and you can imagine how well that went. He’s so stubborn! So goddamn stubborn and it drives me absolutely insane.”

“Well…” she grins, and playfully digs her elbow into her friend’s side. “…now you know how he feels when it comes to dealing with you.”

“I am nowhere near as bad as him. Nowhere.”

“I’ll give you that. But you’re both horribly stubborn and you’re both enormous pains in each other’s asses. But it works. In its own way. Neither of you could live without the other. I’m one hundred percent sure of that. And he’s going to be okay,” she reaches out to rub her friend’s shoulder. “He’s going to come home. To you and the kids. I promise you. We’ll make sure of it. And I know you hate me. For putting him in the situations I do…”

‘I don’t hate you, Nik. I could never hate you. And you don’t put him in anything. Tyler manages that all on his own. If anyone is an expert on getting himself caught up in wild and crazy shit, it’s him. I just wish…” her voice trails off, a frown curving her lips as she lays a hand over her eyes to shield them from the sun and peers into the distance. “…what the hell?”

“What?” Nik turns her attention to what has caught her friend’s eye. TJ wandering away from the playground, towards a stranger waving to him from a cluster of bushes and trees fifty meters away. “Yaz!” she yells at her brother, whose completely oblivious as he busies himself pushing Mille and Tanner on the swing. “What are you doing?! You’re supposed to be watching that one too!”

“It’s okay,” Esme assures her, and hands her the cup of tea. “Tyler’s fine. He won’t hurt him. He doesn’t hurt kids. Only women.”

“You know that guy?”

“Unfortunately,” she sighs, and slips her feet into her flip flops. “That’s my ex husband.”

***

“Tyler James Rake Junior!” Esme bellows, as she stomps across the grass, to where her son is immersed in conversation with Mark. As if they’re long lost friends. “Just what in the blue hell are you doing?!”

“We’re talking about football,” her son informs her. As if it’s perfectly natural to be making friends with complete strangers. “But real football. Like daddy likes. Not the stupid NFL.”

“You do not just go wandering off like that,” she scolds him, dropping to one knee in front of him, hands on his shoulders. “How many has daddy and I talked to you about that? That you stay where we can see you? That you just don’t go off on your own?”

There are many reasons for their warnings. And their worries. Yes, there’s a lot of unsavoury and sketchy people out there that are just waiting to take advantage of a child. But there’s also the possibility of there being someone out there just waiting to exact revenge. It is a strange way to live: always looking over your shoulder, waiting for the other shoe to drop. But it’s the nature of the beast.

“He’s fine,” Mark pipes up. “I wasn’t going to hurt him.”

She ignores him and continues to address her son. “What did daddy tell you? About never taking off like that? About never talking to strangers?”

His chin falls to his chest, a pout curving his lips. “That I should always be where someone can see me.”

“You scared me. And Auntie Nik. Don’t go wandering off like that, okay? What if something happened to you? Mommy doesn’t want to lose you. She loves you way too much. Come here…” she draws him into her arms, a hand on the back of his head as he snuggles his face into her shoulder. “…I’m sorry I yelled. I’m sorry I hurt your feelings. But you scared me, Tyler. Please don’t do that again, okay?”

“Okay,” he agrees with a sniffle, and when he pulls back, she uses gentle fingertips to clear the tears off his cheeks and the sides of his nose. “I’m sorry, mommy. But it’s not a stranger. He’s my friend.”

“No. He most certainly is not. He’s not your friend.”

“But he came to the house and said he knows you and he talked to daddy.”

“He is not your friend,” she stresses.

“Everything okay?” a breathless Yaz inquires as he arrives on the scene. “I’m sorry, Esme. I just looked away from him for less than a minute. I was caught up with the other two and I just glanced away and…”

“Everything’s fine,” she assures him, wiping grass and dirt off her knee as she stands up. “He’s okay. A little too fearless, but okay. Can you take him back?”

“I want to stay with you,” her son argues, and wraps both arms around one of her legs. 

“Who are you?” Yaz addresses Mark. No chill. Just straight to the point. 

“I’m Mark,” he steps forward and offers a hand.

Yaz looks at his hand, then straight in the eye, and then back to the hand again. Giving a derisive snort as he turns to Esme. “Mark, Mark? As in…?”

“Just take him back to the others,” she says, and pries loose little fingers from around her thigh. “Go with Uncle Yaz,” she speaks to her son. “He’ll take you down to see the ducks and the geese. Mommy will be there in a few minutes. Can you do that for me? Go with uncle Yaz to feed ducks?”

He nods, and she takes his little face in her hands and presses a kiss to his forehead.

“You’ll be okay?” Yaz asks. “If you need me to stick around…”

“I’ll be fine.”

He nods, then looks at Mark. “Just so you know, I know about fifteen different ways to kill someone without leaving any evidence behind. And my sister knows about five times more than that.”

“I’m not here to cause trouble,” he promises. “I’m just here to talk.”

“Yeah…sure you are…” Yaz mutters, and then takes TJ by the hand and hauls him off back towards the playground.

****

“He’s a little cutie,” Mark observes. “Looks nothing like you though. None of them do.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Esme hisses. “First you show up at my house and talk to my husband, now you’re following me around and talking to my three old? Are you following me?”

“You never called,” he attempts to reason. “I gave your husband my business card and he said he’d tell you to give me a call and…”

“He should have just punched you in the throat and threw your ass in a shallow grave. And believe me, he’s more than capable of doing it. And much worse things. What do you want? It’s been eight years. No contact. Exactly the way I like it. And all of a sudden you just show up out of the blue? Are you unhinged?”

“I’ve kept in touch with your mom. She’s the one who told me where to find you.”

“Oh, I know. And believe me, she’s going to be on my shit list for a long time. What do you want? Why are you showing up at my house? Why are you following me to a park and watching me with my kids? Do you realize how creepy that is? That you’re just hanging out watching us and talking to my son? That is creepy as fuck and that is a line you never should have crossed. My son, Mark? Are you serious right now?”

“You’re making way too much of a big deal out of this, Esme. I guess some things never change, huh? You still overreact.”

“Don’t even try that with me. I’m not the same person I was when I let you get away with all your crap. So don’t you dare try and gaslight me. For once just own up to your own shit. You never should have kept in contact with my mother and you definitely should not have shown up at my house. You talked to my husband? Like, seriously Mark?”

“He’s a nice guy. Not nearly as intimidating as he looks,” her ex smirks. “He’s a big boy, huh? Strong as hell.”

“Why don’t you show up at the house again and try your bullshit on him and you can see just how strong and intimidating he can be? I honestly would like to see that. I’d like to see him just hand you your ass. You have no idea what he’s capable of. And I don’t think you really want to find out.”

“I’m not underestimating him. I’ve heard the stories. They’re out there if you know the right people. I definitely would not want to get on his bad side. I heard what he did to those guys back in that apartment in Dhaka. I thought maybe it was all just a bunch of bullshit. Did he really kill a guy with a garden rake?”

“I’m not indulging you in this. I don’t care what you’ve heard. I don’t care who you’ve heard it from. You had no right going to my house and talking to him. And you definitely had no right coming here and talking to my son. How low are you willing to stoop? How much further down into the gutter are you willing to go? That is my child, Mark. My three-year-old. And you’re out here luring him away like some pedophile.”

“I was not luring him away. He saw me and wandered over to talk to me. That’s it. I would have never hurt him, you know that.”

“Because you only hurt women, right?” she crosses her arms over her chest. “Just tell me what you’re doing here. Why do you want to talk to me so badly? Can’t you just go back under whatever rock you’ve been living under for the past eight years? I have a life. One that doesn’t include you. I have a husband and kids. Can’t you just let me be?”  
“I just want to talk to you,” Mark assures her. “I’m not here to cause problems. I just want to talk.”

“About what?”

“Can we go and sit down somewhere? Get a little privacy?”

“You either talk right here or not at all. I’m not going anywhere with you. So talk. Whatever you have to say, just get it out.”

His eyes narrow as he looks over her shoulder. “Your friend is staring at us.”

“That’s Nik. And she’s probably going through all the different ways she can kill you. You wouldn’t want to meet her in a dark alley, either. Stop trying to change the subject. What do you want? Why are you here?”

“To talk.”

“I got that already. About what? You’re testing my patience, Mark.”

“First things first…” he reaches into the breast pocket of his golf shirt and plucks out a small, sparkling and shiny object, offering it to her. “…you left it behind.”

The engagement ring he’d given to her many years ago. When things had seemed normal. Perfect. When she’d been convinced she’d found the love of her life and she’d wanted nothing more than to devote her life to him. 

She slaps his hand away. “You’re lucky I didn’t shove it up your ass or down your throat. What is wrong with you? Why would you bring that? If I didn’t want it then, why would I want it now?”

“Well I noticed you don’t wear one, so…”

“So you thought I’d just take that one back and wear it? You really are a delusional, arrogant prick, aren’t you. You’re not part of my life anymore. You haven’t been part of my life in eight years. And I was perfectly fine with that. I don’t want your ring. I don’t want you showing up at my house. I don’t want you talking to my husband or my son. You’re messed up, Mark. You have serious issues. You need to just go. Go back to whatever cave you’re living in and…”

“Denver,” he interrupts. “I live in Denver now.”

“Oh, how convenient. Considering you hated Colorado when we were together. Well go back to Denver, then. Go back there and leave me alone. Leave us alone.”

She attempts to turn on her heel and walk away, but he captures her by the wrist and turns her around to face him.

“Don’t…” she warns, and yanks her hand out of his grasp. “…ever touch me like that.”

He releases her and then holds his hands up in surrender. “Just give me a chance, okay? Let me just explain what I’m doing here. It’s just to talk, I promise. There’s things I need to say to you. To get off my chest. Will you let me do that?”

She crosses her arms over her chest once again, head cocked to the side as she waits for him to continue. 

“I’m in a program. For my drinking. I know what you’re going to say. That it only took eight years for me to get to this point. And that I should have listened to all the times you begged me to go and get help. That things would be completely different now if I had have.”

She doubts it. Their problems extended far beyond his alcohol issues. Getting help for that barely scratches the surface. 

“One of the things I need to do…to make a clean break and start a new life…is to make amends for things I’ve done. It doesn’t erase what was said or what I did, but it’s an important step I need to take. For my own mental and physical health.”

“Because that’s all it was ever about, right Mark? You. I was never really in the equation.”

“Maybe it will give you some kind of closure as well. Maybe you need to hear these things just as much as I need to say them. So you can get on with your life.”

“I’ve gotten on with my life. I met the love of my life. The true love of my life. I got married. Had babies. I love the life I have. With the person I’ve made that life with. I don’t need to hear anything from you, Mark. But I understand why you need to say them.”

He gives a smile of appreciation, taking a deep breath as he nervously rubs his hands together. “I know that I hurt you,” he begins. “I know that I wasn’t the easiest person to get along with. Live with. That there were things I said and did that were horrible. That I was a terrible person to you a lot of the times. Especially after the baby.”

She nods in agreement, swallowing down the lump of emotion that has lodged in her throat.

“I think we just got caught up in things. I had just come out of a bad relationship and I was looking for someone…anyone…to fill that hole inside of me. And you were there. I met you and everything seemed right with the world again. And maybe it was wrong. Maybe it never should have happened. I was your commanding officer. But it did happen. And I don’t regret that. Because there were some good times. And when things were good, they were damn good. Weren’t they?”

“I never denied there were good times, Mark. But there were more bad than good and you can’t deny that.”

“And you can’t deny that those times weren’t all my fault. You’re not exactly the easiest person to live with, Esme. You don’t make it easy to love you. I’m surprised this guy’s held on as long as he has, to be honest.”

She smirks. “And you were doing so well there for a minute. You almost had me feeling sorry for you.”

“He must have a lot more patience than I do. Almost six years, right? And he’s still around? You must be doing something right.”  
“I give amazing blow jobs and he gets laid nearly every day, twice a day,” she retorts, and he frowns. “You actually almost had me there, Mark. I was starting to feel sorry for you. I was actually starting to feel proud of you for getting help. And then you do this. You turn it around so you’re the victim.”

“I’m only pointing out that things fell apart because of both of us. Granted, I was a lot worse than you were and you put more into it when it came to trying to keep things together. You definitely worked harder than I did when things were falling apart. And I know I went off the deep end after the baby. I’m sorry. For the things I said and the things I did to you. The other women. The lying. The being a complete asshole. And that’s what I came to say to you. That I’m sorry and I hope one day you can forgive me.”

She nods, considering his words, arms still crossed over her chest, hands rubbing her shoulders.

“You have a beautiful family, Esme. You’ve got a guy that’s obviously crazy about you. Amazing kids. And I’m glad you found that. I’m glad you found someone that loves you as much as he does. Someone that could give you what I couldn’t. I’m sorry I couldn’t be the kind of man that you needed. I really am. Even now I wish things could have been different.”

“Things happen for a reason,” she says. “Had we…had you fixed things…I wouldn’t have what I have now. I never would have met Tyler. And that was the best thing that ever happened me. Even if what happened afterwards was screwed up. I don’t regret meeting him. Or going through what I had to. He almost died. I almost lost him and I had just found him. But I don’t regret how I met him or how things happened between us. And none of that would have happened if things worked between us.”

“Well I hope he appreciates it. How much you love him. How much you’re willing to go through for him. Because when you love, you love with your whole heart. Your whole being. And I just hope he realizes how lucky he is. I hope that you have a long life together. A happy life. And I really am sorry I couldn’t give you all that.”

“And I’m sorry too,” she admits. “For not being the person you needed.”

“That’s the thing. You were. And I was just too stupid to realize it.”

“Mommy,” Millie appears by her side, tugging at the bottom of her t-shirt. “I’m hungry.”

“Again?” Esme laughs, and scoops her up into her arms. “You’re getting to be just as bad as your daddy and your brothers. Can you say hi?”

“Hi,” the little girl chirps, and offers a hand. “I’m Amelia. But everyone calls me Millie. I like that better.’

He smiles and shakes her hand. 

“I’m five,” she announces. “Those are my brothers...” she nods over her mother’s shoulder in the direction of where Yaz is helping the twins shake playground sand out of their sandals. “Tyler and Tanner. They’re twins. But they don’t look exactly alike.”

“Fraternal,” Esme explains. “Not identical. But you’d never know it if you saw them side by side. It’s hard for people to tell them apart, isn’t it, Millie? We can because we live with them and see them every day. But to other people it’s hard.”

Millie nods. “Sometimes, at school, if they have a new teacher or a new person watching them on the playground, they’ll pretend to be each other. Just to mess people up. They think it’s funny,” she rolls her eyes at that, then adds in exasperation, “Boys. They try at home too, but mommy and daddy know who is who. That’s my other brother,” she points in the direction of where Nik is buckling the baby into his stroller. “Declan. He’s just a baby. I like him better than the other two. I really want a baby sister. I’m tired of having brothers.”

“Well that’s something your dad and I have to decide. Whether it be a brother or a sister. We don’t really get to pick. It just happens.”

“Do you know my daddy?” Millie addresses Mark. “His name is Tyler too. My brother was named after him.”

“We met,” he confirms. “We don’t really know each other though.”

“You know mommy?”

He nods.

“How?”

“Your mom and I knew each other a long time ago. We met at her old job. Long before she met your dad or had you or your brothers.”

“You were friends?”

He smiles. “Something like that.”

“Do you like dogs?”

Mark blinks.

“I have a dog. His name is Macaroni. But everyone calls him Mac. I try telling everyone that’s not his name, but…” she shrugs.

“Welcome to the world of five-year old’s,” Esme grins. “Where your attention span is limited yet you can carry on six different conversations at the same time. I should go. The other three are probably hungry too. And we should get home before daddy and Ovi, right?” she presses a kiss to Millie’s temple.

“Ovi’s my other brother,” Millie explains. “But he didn’t come from mommy’s tummy. Mommy and daddy didn’t make him like they made the rest of us. I’m only five, but I know how these things work, you know. Ovi doesn’t look like me. But he’s still my brother.”

“The drug dealer’s kid?” Mark asks Esme, and she nods. “Pretty admirable. You guys taking him on like that.”

“He needed a family. Him and Tyler have a pretty tight bond. Even back then they did. And we couldn’t just leave him there.”

“He never would have survived. If you hadn’t have taken him. You realize that, right?”

She nods, then gives Millie a smile and a kiss on the forehead. “Hungry? Should we go and grab something to eat? Make Uncle Yaz pay? We should go. If all four of them start carrying on at the same time…”

“Thank you, Esme,” he reaches out and rubs her shoulder. “For hearing me out. I know it wasn’t easy for you and I know you didn’t owe me anything. And I hope one day you can forgive me.”

“Maybe,” she says. “I’m glad to see you’re getting yourself together, Mark. That you’re finally taking things seriously and getting the help you need. I really am. You deserve much better than the cards you’ve been dealt. You always did.”

He smiles, then reaches out to tuck a wayward piece of hair behind her ear. “Your hair has always done that,” he chuckles. “I always used to fix it for you.”

“Well, someone else does that for you now. So…” she backs away. Far enough that he can’t reach her.

“I really am happy for you. Genuinely happy. You got the life you wanted. Someone that loves you and can provide for you, give you children. He’s lucky.”

“I’m pretty lucky myself. Even if it takes something like this to make me realize it. He’s a good man. Not perfect, but perfect for me. And he’s a great father. Right, Millie? Isn’t he? Isn’t he a great daddy?”

“The best daddy ever,” she gushes. “Even if he won’t let me paint his nails or wear the tiara.”

“It’s a long story,” Esme says. 

“But he does take me fishing,” the little girl continues. “And hiking. Those are pretty cool too. Do you have kids?”

“No,” he responds. “I was never lucky enough to have kids. Your mom’s a good mom, isn’t she?”

“The best ever,” Millie says, and presses a noisy kiss to Esme’s cheek. “Even if she does keep giving me brothers.”

“And that’s our cue to leave,” Esme laughs. “I need to get these guys fed and home. It was nice seeing you, Mark. For what it’s worth, I hope you got what you needed by coming here. I know it wasn’t easy for you, either.”

“If you ever need anything, and I mean anything, don’t hesitate to call. I’ll help anyway I can. Maybe we can start from square one. Be friends again. We always worked better as friends. Would you at least think about it? Give it a chance.”

“We’ll see,” she says. “If you don’t hear from me…well if you don’t hear me, just take care of yourself. You’re on the right path. Stay on it.”

“I will,” he promises, and then she turns on her heel and walks away.


	17. Chapter 17

“I don't know why I have to do this,” Ovi grumbles, as feels the toe of Tyler's boot against him, kicking his feet further apart. The gun range is the last place he wants to be. He hasn't held a gun since Dhaka, and he'd be more than happy never have to hold one again.

“Because I said so, that's why,” Tyler retorts.

He's on edge today; his tone gruff, patience thin, relying a little more on the painkillers than usual. Little to no sleep finally getting the better of him. Even long after Esme had fallen asleep next to him on that tattered and torn couch in the garage, he'd done nothing more than stare up at the ceiling. Her warm, soft body wrapped in his arms, her hair tickling his skin as her head lay against his chest, her breath soft and slow. A million and one thoughts and worries plaguing him. Normally a job wouldn't have him this worked up emotionally speaking. He usually was able to hold things together and prevent himself from dwelling on everything that could go wrong. But things were different. He feels it. An overwhelming sense of doom that he just can't shake.

“Open your stance up,” he orders, once again using the toe of the boot to push the teenager's feet apart. “Put your shoulder in a bit more. Not that one. This one...” he places his hand on the kid's shoulder and makes the adjustments himself. “And hold it with two hands. Not one. Like this...” he stands behind him and reaches around to fix Ovi's hands. “Better control of it that way. Better aim.”

“I still don't know why we're here,” Ovi says, as Tyler hands him a pair of protective ear coverings. “You don't wear them,” he frowns.

“Mate, do you realize how fucked my hearing is after all these years? The noise doesn't bother my ears anymore.”

“I always thought it was just selective hearing. That you just pretended you couldn't hear when Esme was bitching you at.”

“Sometimes I legitimately can't hear what the hell she's saying. Other times I just act like it. Every now and then I even do it because I know having to repeat things drives her insane and it's hilarious to watch her get all worked up,” he steps to the shooting area beside Ovi, and snaps a magazine into place on the rifle that Esme had fixed the night before. “Just don't tell her I said that last part, yeah? I'd like to see my next birthday.”

He flicks off the safety and raises the rifle to his shoulder, expertly releasing five rapid shots that hit the target in the distance in the head. “And that's why we're here,” he says, and nods in the direction of his handiwork. “So you can learn how to do shit like that.”

“It's going to take me forever to be that good at,” Ovi laments. “You've been doing this forever. This is only my second time holding a gun. It's been five years.”

“And now is as good a time as any. I'm leaving you alone...with my family...for a week. Maybe less. Probably more. I want you to be able to at least hit someone to kill them if you have to. Would you move your feet further apart...” he sighs in exasperation. “...loosen up a bit. What are you so worked up about? It's not going to jump up and bite you.”

“Just bad memories,” he says. “The last time I did this...”

“The last time you did this, you saved my life. Both our lives. So just take a breath and relax. The targets can't shoot back. That's the only time you really have to worry. If someone's on the other side shooting back at you. Then you just have to make sure you're quicker than they are. Now just take a deep breath, line up your shot, and pull the trigger. It's not that hard.”

Ovi sighs heavily, then briefly closes his eyes and deeply inhales.

“Let the breath out as you pull the trigger,” Tyler instructs. “Both hands tight, but not too tight. Arms steady, but don't lock them out. Got it?”

Nodding, the kid opens his eyes and releases the breath just as he pulls the trigger. The gun is light in his hands, yet packs a punch, and offers an impressive recoil.

“Not bad,” Tyler nods in approval. “Pretty much got 'em in the centre of the chest. You just have to remember to stay calm. Freaking out isn't going to do a damn bit of good. Only thing a case of bad nerves is going to do is cause you to fuck up.”

“It's hard not to be nervous. The last time I did this...”

“The last time doesn't matter. That was five years ago. You did what you have to do. You saved my ass. And your own. Stop second guessing yourself about that. There was nothing else you could have done.”

“It sucked. Having to do that. Having to kill someone.”

“As bad as it sounds, it gets easier.”

“When? The second time? The third time?”

“I don't know. One day I woke up and I realized it didn't really bother me anymore. I might have been a week into my first tour in Afghanistan.”

“So you were still just a kid. When you first killed someone.”

Tyler nods. “I was nineteen. Just turned it a couple of weeks before. I did what I had to do. I didn't have a chance to second guess myself. I mean, that’s what I was there to do, right? Kill people if I had to. Same thing I do now. I kill people that deserve it. I do what I have to do to get my client out alive. To get myself out alive.”

“Do you feel anything? At all?”

“Not really. Maybe I've just never sat back and thought about it. It's not like you get the chance in the middle of shit to sit back and consider what you're doing and if there's another way of doing it. You just react. You're on autopilot. You've got all this adrenaline going through you and you just go with it. Sometimes I'm not even aware of what I've done until afterwards. When I get to chance to look at it or think about it later.”

“Like the men in the apartment? The ones that took me?”

Tyler nods.

“It scared me. After you untied me and I walked out there. When I saw all the dead bodies. I couldn't understand how one person could do all of that by themselves. I thought, if he can do all of that to them, what is he going to do to me? What is he capable of doing to me? And then you threw me in the trunk...”

It's the first time in over five years that they've talked about it. With all of Ovi's struggles with his mental health issues, it was a part of the past that neither of them felt need to be revisited. Both of them had been concentrating on the present; on getting healthy both physically and mentally. Tyler had his own shit to deal with; PTSD never disappears and there are days when it rarely affects his life and others when it seems to consume him. The monsters and the demons of the past may be at rest, but it doesn't take much for them to stir.

“Technically, I didn't throw you in the trunk,” Tyler says. “I pushed you towards it and you got in.”

“Because I was afraid you were going to kill me if you didn't. I saw what you did to those guys. You killed them. All of them. By yourself.”

“Well I had to get you out someway,” he reasons, and selects another weapon from the military issued ruck sack behind the safety barrier. “I did what I had to do.”

“Some of them you even killed with your bare hands.”

“Yeah, and I'd kill them again if I had to. Here...” he takes the handgun off of Ovi and holds out a semi automatic rifle. “Try this one for size. Be careful though. That one does bite. Has one hell of a kick back if you don't know what you're doing.”

The kid's eyes widen as he reluctantly takes the item offered to him. “Would you have killed me too?” he inquires, as Tyler cracks the seal on a bottle of water he pulls from the bag and takes a sip.

“I wasn't hired to kill you, mate. I was hired to take you home.”

“In the forest. You threatened to kill me and Saju.”

“I just wanted you to shut the fuck up and listen to me. Funny how some things never change, huh?”

Ovi smirks at that. “But would you have? Killed me? If there was no other choice?”

“It's been five years, kid. It's all over and done with. Why...?”

“If you had no other choice, would you have done it? Kill me?”

“There would have been no reason to. I wasn't going to leave you in the street or just hand you over to Asif. I didn't listen to Nik when she told me to ditch you and I didn't listen to Gaspar when he wanted me to give you up for five million. There would have been no reason to kill you.”

“Just humour me,” Ovi says. “Just say there was a reason.”

Tyler sighs, his eyes on the kid as he gulps down water. “I would have killed myself before I killed you,” he admits.

Ovi blinks.

“I wouldn't have been able to live with myself if I left you behind. Or gave you up to Asif. I would have put a bullet in my own brain before I would have done anything to you. You've got to let this go, mate. It's been a long time. I know sometimes it feels like just yesterday, but it wasn't. It was five years ago. Almost six. You can't keep letting it fuck with you like this.”

“Easier said than done.”

“Look, I've spent ten years dealing with my own crap that I keep holding onto. Things in my past that I can't seem to let go.”

“Your son?”

Tyler nods. “Trust me when I say that nothing good comes of holding onto things for that long. It just causes even more problems. Don't make the same mistakes I did. Don't keep holding onto the past. It only drags you down. It eats away at you and it breaks you down and it kills you. Slowly. Don't do that to yourself. You're young. You've got a lot to live for still.”

“So do you,” Ovi points out. “You have Esme. And the kids.”

“And believe me, there's days where I'm only alive because they need me. Because I know how badly it would fuck with them if I was no longer around. Get your shit together, kid. Before everything you have right in front of you is gone. Like this girl you're seeing. Or dating. Or whatever the hell you want to call it.”

“Dating,” he confirms. “We call ourselves boyfriend and girlfriend now.”

“How cute,” Tyler smirks. “She going to start wearing your glass ring around her neck and your football jacket?”

Ovi frowns. “What?”

“Never mind. It's dumb shit we used to do in high school. So things are serious between the two of you, yeah? If you've got titles and all that now.”

“I'm crazy about her,” Ovi admits with a long, content sigh. “She's incredible.”

“Yeah, I recognize that look in your eye, mate. You're fucked now. I had that same look in my eyes five years ago and now look where I am.”

There's a smile on his face as he says it. No matter how many wisecracks he makes, cheap shots he gets in, or no matter how many times they fight, there's no doubt in Ovi's mind that Tyler is wildly and crazily in love with his wife. That he's perfectly content and at peace with where he is; a husband and a father. 

“You still have that look in your eyes,” he points out, and a slow, wide grin spreads across Tyler's face.

“Maybe I do, mate,” he says. Maybe I do.”

*****

They lay together on the backyard hammock; Esme's legs between his, her eyes closed as her head rests on his chest. Both of his arms draped around her slender body, one hand on her hip, the other on the small of her back, a leg hanging over the side as he uses his foot to move the hammock back in forth in a slow, controlled motion. She smells amazing, a mixture of coconut shampoo and sex. Her hair still damp from the shower they'd taken together; using all the hot water up as their hands and their mouths languidly explored each other's bodies. Sharing long, slow, toe curling kisses until he'd picked her up and pinned her to the tiles, her legs wrapped around his waist as he took her hard and fast.

It had been the second time that afternoon. When Nik and Yaz had announced that they were taking the kids in the next town over to see a movie -”So you two can spend time together”- they car had barely made it out of the driveway before their mouths and their hands were all over each other; hungry, demanding kisses, greedy and desperate fingers. Clothes being dropped in a path that led from the front door to the living room, where he'd made love to her on the couch. Languid, tender. Long lazy kisses and roaming fingers as he moved above her; their bodies slick with sweat, muscles trembling and aching from taking things so slow. A far cry from the usual hard and rough that she seems to prefer. But beautiful and intense in all its own right. Her hands in his hair and her entire body arching off the couch when she came; his name leaving her lips in a long, breathy whisper that he felt to his very soul.

Afterwards they'd showered, and with that came round two. Then they'd thrown on whatever clothes they could find and retreated outside; eating a spontaneous lunch that she'd thrown together with the leftovers from the night before. It reminds him of the days when they were first married and living in their old apartment back in Australia. When he was still attending rehab four times a week and sometimes has to use a walker to get around when the pain became just too much to bear. Life didn't exist outside of that apartment; save for the meals they'd share together out on the little balcony. They'd been newlyweds then. With barely any furniture or other personal belongings, surrounded by unpacked boxes and various in home therapy equipment that had been sent for him, making love as often as possible on that mattress on the floor.

Life had been so much simpler. Even with the agony and exhaustion that came with his lengthy recovery. Even when he had to swallow his pride when it came to abandoning his control over even the day to day things. Falling more and more in love with her every time she trimmed his beard or cut his hair; the tender and adoring way she'd look at him, the way one hand would gently cradle his face. In awe of everything that she'd given up and everything that she did for him. She did it all without question; never complaining, never losing her temper when his emotions and frustrations got the better of him and he took it out on her. By his side every step of the way; whether it be waking up in recovery rooms after surgeries to see her napping in a chair, or how -once he'd been transferred into a ward- she'd climb into bed with him ever so carefully, falling asleep next to him. And then she'd started getting bigger with child...his child...and that awe in her only increased. Watching the way she not only took care of him but made sure that life they created together thrived inside of her.

There was no way she could ever known just how much he appreciated everything she did back and then and everything she continues to do now. No words that could ever adequately express just how grateful he is. Not for just the things she did, but for the way she made him feel. 

She moves against him, giving a little yawn as her hand comes up to rest against the side of her face, her knuckles repeatedly along his jaw and against his beard. “What are you thinking about?” she asks, as she places her chin on his chest and looks up at him.

“Nothing really,” he replies, running his palm up and down her back. “Just about our old place. How we moved in there with nothing. How you used to cut my hair and trim my beard and never once complained about it.”

“Remember how we used to sleep on the floor on just a mattress?” her hand slides across his shoulder and down his arm, fingertips tracing the tattoo on the inside of his bicep.

“That's not all we used to do on that mattress,” he grins, and presses a kiss to the top of her head when she giggles. “I remember the night that the baby kicked for the first time. Before we even found out it was a girl.”

“You had the goofiest, cutest grin on your face. You were so proud of yourself for putting that baby in me. You used to always talk to her, do you remember that? Because you wanted her to know your voice. She'd be quiet all day and then you'd put your hand on my belly and talk to her and she'd start to squirm around. You were her favourite even then. You're always so cute. When I'm pregnant. Always so pleased with your handiwork. The way you always brag to people about your wife having a baby. Always touching my stomach. Just so sweet and cute and fluffy.”

“Did you seriously just call me sweet, cute, and fluffy?”

“Your abs aren't as hard as they used to be,” she teases, and squeezes his stomach. “There's a bit of a middle age spread coming along.” Her hand slips up the front of his tank top, fingertips tracing each dent and ripple of muscle that still exists there. Even if there is a little bit of 'fluff' as she likes to call it. “Look at me. I'm not the same person I was five years ago. I'm heavier now.”

“You're beautiful. I don't care about this extra weight you keep complaining about. I never see it.”

“My boobs are bigger. And my butt.”

“Your boobs and your ass are incredible.”

“And my hips are wider.”

“You've had a baby. Four babies. My babies.”

She smiles at that, her hand moving further up his shirt, fingers explore the various scars that mar his skin. She knows them all by heart, every smooth or jagged edge. “I was thinking about Dhaka,” she admits, and he frowns. “Not the bad stuff,” she quickly adds.

“Wasn't it all bad?”

“Not those first five days.”

“Yeah...” he grins. “...those first five days were pretty damn good.”

“That room was nasty though. It was so weird because the sheets were always so fresh and so white yet the rest of the place was so disgusting. How many times do you have to try and fix the toilet so it would flush properly?”

“Too many.”

“Remember the shower?” she has her chin on his chest again, eyes sparkling up at him. “Remember how there was barely any hot water and the nozzle was so low you couldn't even stand under it properly? And I'd laugh at you and make fun of your height and call you a sasquatch?”

“I can't believe you shit talked me like you did and I still put out.”

“It's not my fault you're absurdly tall and your shoulders are absurdly wide. And you're the one that would always tease me about my height. Especially about our height difference. About how I was short enough that I didn't even have to kneel.”

“Well, I wasn't lying about that,” he chuckles. “It's close. You almost don't have to kneel.”

“Is it weird I kind of miss that room? Not the room itself. But what went on inside the room. Is that strange?”

“No,” he wraps his arm even tighter around her, fingers continuously brushing against her shoulder. “Sometimes I miss it too. Just what went on in that room. None of the bad shit that happened after.”

It wasn't just sex. Although that had been the biggest part of it. But it was there that they'd begun the journey of not only getting to know one another, but the process of healing and opening up to others. It was the first time he'd ever told anyone about Austin. They knew that he'd had cancer and passed away, but they'd never known the other part of the story. Esme had been the one that he'd confessed to. Telling her about he'd left voluntarily for a third tour in Kandahar while his son lay suffering and dying in the hospital, simply because he couldn't stand to watch. And she hadn't judged him; not for his admission of guilt and the profound grief that came pouring out of me. She'd simply sat and listened; quietly, intently. And then had used her fingers to clear his tears away before taking his face in his hands and kissing him.

The softest, sweetest kiss he'd ever experienced in his entire life.

“I remember how the manager came up the third day,” he recalls. “Because the people next to us complained about how noisy someone was being.”

“Well if they didn't know your name after the first night, they sure knew it by then,” Esme laughs. “And you told him that I was screamer and you didn't know how to get me to stop, other than put a hand over my mouth.”

“Yeah, and you responded how kinky it was and we should try it.”

“And we did,” she laughs even harder now. “And it was kinky. And so fucking hot. Isn't that the same time you discovered my fetish for having my hair pulled?”

“That and how much you liked to bite. I even have a scar right there...” he points to his right trap muscle. “...from your teeth. You're nasty for a little thing.”

“Nasty in a fun way or a bad way?”

“Both. But mostly in a fun way.”

She smiles, then slides along his body and kisses him. Pushing a hand through his hair, fingers entwining in the longer strands at the top, his hand moving from her hip to join the other at the small of her back. Their mouths moving against one another; lips, tongues, even teeth. Soft and slow. Deep and easy. Then breaking away and exchanging several small pecks before she nestles her face into that favourite spot hers; between the side of his neck and his shoulder.

“I wish you weren't leaving,” she says, her fingers still combing through his hair. 

“I know,” he presses his lips to her forehead, and moves his arm up her back so it lays along her shoulders.

“Remind me again why you're doing this?”

“Because he needs my help. Because he doesn't have anyone that he trusts to get the job done properly. And because I'd want someone to help me if it was you and my kids.”

“But what if it's all bullshit? What if you get there and it is some elaborate ruse to get you away from here? So that you're there where they want you but we're here alone where they also want us and...”

“Babe...” he tightens his hold on her. “...don't let your mind go there. Please. There's no reason to think that something like that is going on. I saw those videos of his wife and his kids. With my own two eyes. They were real.”

“Or he and the wife are sickos and they're using their kids to make it more believable. What if...?”

“It's real,” he insists. “Nik already checked into it. Everything he said is the truth. Right down to being in New Zealand on the job when he met his wife. There wasn't one thing out of place. Not that she could find anyway.”

“It is just so weird. That he'd just track you down out of nowhere. And why did he wait so long to actually talk to you? He said he'd even been following you in Guatemala. Even you have to admit that that is super weird. How'd he even know you were there?”

“I honestly don't know. Maybe he found that all out when he got a hold of my file. Or whoever gave him the file knew where I was and told him.”

“But following you? For what? I don't get that part.”

“He said he was just trying to make sure that no one else was following me. He didn't want to approach me right away in cause someone else was tailing me. That happens. We get people tailing us all the time, reporting shit back to their people. Try not to worry about it, okay?” he rubs her shoulder comfortingly, places a kiss on her brow. “It's all on the up and up. I promise.”

“So how long?” her fingers slip from his hair and move to his ear, a nail tracing the outer edge . “Do you know how long you'll be gone for?”

“A week. Two at the most. If I haven't found them in two weeks, I'm coming home regardless. I already told him that. Fourteen days and that's it. I told him I already promised that to my wife and I wasn't breaking that promise. I've got important shit to do here. I've got a baby to make.”

She laughs against his throat.

“Although I'll be really surprised and disappointed in myself if I didn't get the job done some time in the past four days. I've been busting my ass here.”

“Oh what a hard life you've been living in the past few days. Getting laid at the drop of a hat. What a burden to have to bare.”

“I'm willing to take one for the team. It's a sacrifice I'm willing to make.”

She gives a little snort and shakes her head.

“Ovi's going to stay in the house. I'd rather him be really close if something goes wrong and you need him.”

“I already told that I'm perfectly capable of using a gun and protecting myself and our kids.”

“And I already told you that I wasn't comfortable with that. So he's going to stay in the house. And you're going to call Nik if you think there's something weird going on. If you hear anything or see anything or you get any weird calls or messages. She'll come and stay here if you need her too. Yaz will be coming with me and manning the tech front. So I won't be there all alone.”

“You'll be doing all the heavy lifting,” she points out. “And before you say 'I work better alone', I've heard it a thousand times and I still think it's bullshit. I'm just worried about you, Tyler. I can't help it. I can't just turn it off because you want me to. I'd just feel better if someone was with you. Even this McCann guy. I mean it is his wife and his kids after all.”

“They're being held in separate places. And I don't need someone constantly looking over my shoulder or slowing me down. I've never worked with a partner. Ever.”

“You worked with me.”

“That's completely different. We weren't doing the same job. You were there to get the information. I was there to make sure nothing happened to you while you did. That's not the same thing. Everything will go a lot smoother if he just does his own thing and I do mine. I've got Yaz on standby if I run into problems. Everything's going to be fine. I'll get the job done and I'll be home before you know it. Leaving the toilet seat up and my dirty socks on the ground and driving you nuts.”

“Is it weird I'm going to miss the dirty socks and the toilet seat being left up?”

“No. It's not weird. I'm going to miss all the stupid shit you do too.”

“Like what?”

“Talking in your sleep. I can carry on whole conversations with you and you don't even remember them the next day. How you always buy shampoo that smells like flowers and girly shit like that.”

“You'd use dish soap if I let you. So you're one to talk.”

“Hey, if it's good enough for those baby ducks in the commercial it's good enough for me.”

She laughs at that.

“And the way you make me eat kale. What the fuck is kale? It tastes like grass clippings and the tears of baby animals.”

“First of all, I don't make you eat it. I put it in smoothies that you actually drink while you're working out. And it wasn't until the kale that you started to really bulk up. So...”

“The kale has nothing to do with. It's the fact I've been eating like eight thousand calories a day. The kale has nothing to do with it.”

“Just watch. You'll probably miss the kale smoothies while you're gone.”

“I definitely will not miss the smoothies. But I will miss watching you make while you're wearing those little yoga shorts and one of my t-shirts. Now that I will miss.”

“Just for you, I will wear those little shorts when you video chat with me tomorrow.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Just the little shorts?”

“You have to make sure you call when the kids are in bed though. Or you're getting a baggy sweatshirt and sweatpants. Those are your only options. It's either little shorts or sweats. So make a wise decision. It's the difference between having a study partner or studying alone.”

“You're never going to let me live that down are you,” he chuckles, and carefully rolls over onto his side, so they're chest to chest. Then brings his other leg up onto the hammock and laying it across hers. Both arms wrapped tightly around her, their noses touching.

“Never. But if you're going to solo study while you're away, you should at least let me watch.”

“Yeah?” he grins, sliding one hand down to her ass. “Then that's not really solo studying is it.”

“Maybe I'm just a kinky bitch who thinks it's totally hot to watch her husband get himself off.”

“Do I get to watch you?”

“Maybe...” she pecks his lips, then his chin, around to the side of his throat. “...why? Do you like watching?”

“I definitely like watching. What do you think about when you're doing it?”

“What do you think about?”

“I asked first.”

“I think about lots of things,” she admits, as her tongue travels over the scar left behind from the shooting on the bridge. “I think about the way you use your hands, the way you use your mouth, the way it feels when you're inside of me,” her hand slides down his chest, over his stomach and down onto his crotch. Palm coming in contact with the beginnings of his erection. “What do you think about?”

“The way it feels to be in your mouth,” he swallows heavily when her tongue passing over his Adam's apple and her hands cups him through the fabric of his shorts. “The way you always look at me when you swallow. The way it feels to be inside of you.”

“You don't get tired of it? Always feeling the same thing all the time?”

“It never feels the same way. Ever,” he assures her. “It's amazing every time. Why? Do you get tired of it?”

“I could never get tired of you,” she says, and shivers against him as his hand slides up the front of her t-shirt. “Ever.”

“Even when we've been married for fifty years?”

“Even then,” she declares, her teeth biting into her bottom lip when his hand brushes against her breast; palm cupping it as his thumb flicks over the nipple. “Are you going to trade me in for three twenty year old’s when I turn sixty?”

“Wait...” his hand stops its ministrations. “...that's an option?”

“You're such a dick,” she laughs, and then gives a small sigh when his free hand grabs a hold of her ass and pulls her tight against him; his now rock-hard cock pressing into her.

“You're stuck with me,” he says. “I'm not trading you in or getting rid of you. Ever. It's just you and me, babe. Until the bitter end.”

She smiles, then pushes her hand into her hair and kisses him. “I think I can live with that.”


	18. Chapter 18

Two hours before he leaves, Tyler finds himself sitting on the edge of the bottom bunk in the twins' room. Initially listening to them babble on about their day with Nik and Yaz. Going to a movie in the big city, eating mountains of junk food, a stop at a toy store to pick out whatever they wanted (within reason), and dinner out. His smile never wavering as he listened intently; offering up appropriate responses or simple nods or shakes of head, them helping them into pyjamas and tucking them in. Side by side on the bigger mattress, the top taken up by a sleeping Mac. It was the dog's nightly ritual: making his rounds through the kids' rooms until they all fell asleep before finally making his way into the master bedroom and settling down with Tyler and Esme.

When the twins finally finish their lively and animated recap of their day, he reluctantly makes his move.

“So... you guys remember when I first got back a week ago? How I said that I'd be home for a while? That I'd have lots of time to spend with you and your brother and sister and your mom?”

They both nod.

“Well something came up. Something important. Not as important as you guys, but something that I really need to do. And now I need to go away for a little while.”

TJ frowns, brow furrowing. “Why?”

“Because someone needs my help. Badly. And I'm the only one that can help them.”

“But why?” his son presses. “Why not someone else? Why do you have to go and help?”

“Because that's what I do. When I go away. I help people. That's my job.”

“How?” Tanner speaks up. “How do you help?”

“I get them away from bad people.”

Tanner cocks his head to the side, eyes narrowing in confusion. “What kind of bad people? What do they do that makes them bad?”

“They do things that hurt good people,” Tyler explains. Careful with the words he chooses, with the tone he uses. Too much information while just frustrate and confuse them even more. Too little while cause even more questions that he knows he won't have suitable answers for. “Good people that can't stick up for themselves.”

“So they're bullies,” TJ concludes. “Like that dick head Timmy at school. The one that always hits girls.”

“Sort of,” he can't help but laugh at his son's choice of words. As much as he knows he shouldn't. “And we really shouldn't go around calling people dick heads, mate.”

“You call people dick heads,” Tanner says. “In the car when they make you mad.”

“Well that's because they are dick heads.”

Both boys giggle.

“But I'm an adult and I can use those kinds of words. Maybe I shouldn't use them around you guys, but sometimes it just comes out. Just don't use those kinds of words around your mom, yeah? Because that won't end well for you guys. Or for me.”

“If you go and help people and get them away from bad people, does that mean you're a policeman?” TJ asks.

“Sort of. I guess.” Mercenary would be too hard to explain at their age. Soldier of fortune seemed a little too brutal for little ears. Vigilante...it could work. If they were just a tad older.

Tanner's eyes widen in interest. “You get to have a gun?”

“Sometimes. Just to scare the bad guys, though. Not to hurt them,” the lie rolls easily off the tongue. A little too easily. “I need to go away for a week. Maybe two. To help these people. A mommy and her two kids. Their daddy asked me to help them. Understand what I'm saying?”

They once again nod in unison.

“I need you guys to be good, okay? I need you to be nice to your mommy and help her out. Because it's hard on her when I go away and she gets lonely and sad. So I need you to help her out around the house. Clean your room when tells you to. Feed the dog. Eat your veggies. And I need you to five her lots of extra love and hugs and kisses. I want you to make her smile and laugh. A lot. You got all that?”

“Will you call us?” Tanner inquires. “So we can talk to you?”

“I'll call every night before bed. I promise. And we'll do video chats like we always do.”

“But I don't want you to go,” TJ is near tears. Normally the strong and stoic one, much like the man he's named after. It takes a lot for him to show emotion. Always preferring to the be the one that comforts others. “You said you wouldn't go away for a while. That you'd stay home. That we could go camping and fishing and do all kinds of cool things.”

“I know, mate. And I'm sorry. I didn't know this was going to happen. And I wouldn't go...I wouldn't leave you guys...if there was someone else who could help. But there isn't. There's just me. And that mommy and her kids need me to help. So they can get back to their daddy. You'd want that, right? Someone to help you get back to mommy and me if you got lost?”

TJ nods.

“We can do all those things and more when I get back. I won't be gone long. Fourteen days at the most. Remember those calendars that mommy made you? That you can use to count down the days until I get back? You make sure you use those, so you'll know when it's getting closer to when I come home.”

“But it's not fair,” TJ laments. “Why does it have to be you?”

“Daddy's helping people,” Tanner attempts to reason with his older -by mere minutes- brother. And he slides closer to him and snakes an arm around his shoulders. “Daddy helps people get away from bad guys. And that's pretty awesome, Teej.”

“I know,” he sniffles. “But it's still not fair. Why can't someone else's daddy go?”

“Because no one is as good at this job as I am,” Tyler says. “So I won't be here when you guys wake up in the morning, okay? And I need you both to be strong for mommy and Millie. They're going to have a hard time. So I need you guys to be extra nice to them. Can you do that? Can I count on you? To make things easier on your mom and your sister?”

They both nod.

“I'll be home soon,” he vows, as he leans over to hug and kiss both of them, using his thumbs to clean the tears off of TJ's cheeks and the sides of his nose. And before he can slide off the bed, his son wraps both arms around his neck and pulls him down into a tight hug.

“I'm gonna miss you daddy.”

He fights back his own tears. The emotion raw. Powerful. “I'm going to miss you too. All of you. But I won't be gone long, I promise.” Running a hand over his namesake's hair, he presses a kiss to his temple. “I love you guys. I love you so much.”

“I love you too, daddy,” TJ whimpers, and Tyler feels Tanner's arms wrap around his neck and his legs around his torso, a chin resting on his shoulders.

“I love you daddy,” Tanner says, and squeezes as tight as his little body will allow.

***

He moves to Millie's room next. The one that he is dreading the most. She is hit or miss when it comes to him leaving: one day she can be strangely calm and accepting, the next she can launch into an epic meltdown. Things haven't been easy since he'd returned home from his last two weeks away: the return to the thumb sucking, the refusal to stay in her own bed for the entire night, the nightmares of bad guys either preventing him from coming come or showing up at the house to hurt all of them. She's been extra clingy; fiercely protective and wanting to be by his side every second of the day, pitching fits when he spends time with just Ovi and the boys. 

He sits on the impossibly narrow twin bed, surrounded by stuffed animals and dolls, his daughter sitting between his legs, sharing her own stories from the busy day while he braids her hair. A nightly ritual that she insists on. It keeps the tangles away and she likes the way it looks when she takes the braids out in the morning. Like a mermaid, she always says. And he remembers the struggle he'd had at first; when she was two and her mother insisted that they keep her hair long so they could do 'cute things with it'. His long fingers and big hands having a hell of a time getting used to just separating the chunks of hair, never mind having to actually braid them.

It was something he'd never envisioned himself doing: a personal hairdresser for a little girl. His little girl.

“It's fun,” she says, as he uses impossibly small elastics to secure the braids at the side of her head. “I like going into the big city. But I wouldn't want to live there. There's too much noise. And way too many people. I like people. But not that much.”

He grins. “You're starting to sound more and more like me every day.”

“There's too many cars,” she continues. “People aren't friendly. They took talk to you or smile at you. And it smells funny.”

“Worse than the goats and the chickens?”

“Way worse. I'm glad we live where we do. We don't have to put up with people. Except for my brothers,” she rolls her eyes at that. “They're bad enough.”

“You'd miss them if they weren't around. If you woke up tomorrow and they weren't here anymore.”

“I don't want them to disappear. I just want them to stop bugging me all the time. Why do they have to be so annoying?”

“Because that's what boys do. We never grow out of it. I annoy your mom all the time.”

“But she doesn't want you to disappear. Because she loves you. And I love my brothers. I just don't like them sometimes. They don't have to disappear, but maybe they can go and visit grandma for a little while. To give me a goddamn break!”

“Hey,” he gently scolds, but can't keep back the grin. “Language. Remember what I said about the language?”

“Not to use bad words when mommy's around and can hear them.”

“Well, yeah. I said that too. But what else did I tell you?

You swear all the time,” she points out.

“I'm an adult. I'm allowed. You're a kid. So...” he presses a kiss to her cheek. “...stop with the bad language. Please.”

“Is it better if I say 'damn break'?”

“Not as bad but still not great.”

She sighs in exasperation.

“Done,” he finishes with the last braid, presses another kiss to her cheek. “Go. Up. Time for bed. Let's get you tucked in.”

He slides off the bed, wincing at the pain in his knees and back, dropping the hairbrush and extra elastics onto an already overcrowded dresser. A wide and unusual variety of unicorn figurines, My Little Ponies, and Transformers.

“One day we should go where you used to live, daddy,” Millie suggests, already flat on her back, head nestled into her pillow. “I want to go there. Mommy says it's really nice and that's there lots of water and beaches. Could we go there sometime?”

“It's something we can think about. It would be nice to take you there.”

“And I could meet grandpa.”

“You've already met him,” his hands work to tightly tuck sheets and a quilt around her.

“But I was just a baby then. I don't remember meeting him. Maybe he'd want to see me again.”

“Maybe,” he attempts a smile. It is a possibility that the old man would not only want to see her again but meet his other grandchildren as well. But if the returned letters and holiday cards are any indication, he has no interest in seeing any of them and has completely washed his hands of his only child.

“What's wrong, daddy?” she asks. “You look sad.”

“I'm not sad. Just tired.”

“I can tell when something's wrong, you know. You look different when something is wrong. Your eyes. They look different.”

“Remember how last week I told you that I was going to stay home for a while? No more going away?”

She nods.

“Well that didn't go exactly the way I'd hoped it would. I really wanted to be able to spend tons of time with you and your brothers and your mom. But...”

Her lips are set in a thin, stern line. “You have to go away,” she finishes for him.

“Just for a week. Or two. No longer than that. There's some people that need my help.”

“Tell them no,” she orders.

“I already told them yes.”

“You promised. You promised you wouldn't go away.”

“I know, I did...” he takes a seat on the edge of the bed, expecting to lay a hand on her leg, only to have her slide away from him. “...Millie...I have to help these people. They need my help.”

“They can get someone else to help. You're not the only person in the entire world.”

“I know. But I'm the one they asked for. I'm the one they need help from. No one else can do the job as well as I can. If there was someone else, they would have asked them.”

“I don't care,” she huffs. “You promised! You promised you'd stay home!”

“I know I did. And I'm sorry. This is a mommy and two kids and...”

“Then let their daddy help them! You're my daddy! Not theirs! Mine. And you're not allowed to leave!”

“It was their daddy who asked me to help him get them back.”

“I... don’t...care...” she spits out each word.

“Amelia...please...just listen to me...” he attempts to lay a hand on her again, but she angrily slaps it away.

“No!” she snaps. “Don't touch me!”

“Amelia...” his tone deepens, frustration and anger getting the best of him. Not just over her reaction; he'd expected things to just go to shit. But the fact that she's so stubborn and protective and she just won't hear him out. So much like her mother, in that respect. Losing her mind and totally tuning him out before he even gets a chance to explain. He's mad at himself; for getting into this situation in the first place. And he's hurt. Wounded by that look of utter betrayal in his daughter's eyes. “...if you'd just listen to me...”

“No!” she bellows. “I don't want to listen to you! You lied to me, daddy! You lied yesterday when you said that Auntie Nik wasn't here to take you away.”

“I didn't lie. She wasn't here to take me away. She was here for a different reason. This has nothing to do with her. This was a decision I made. Because someone needs my help. There's a little boy and a little girl out there that are scared and they're in danger and I need to get them back to their own mommy and daddy. Understand?”

“I don't give a shit!”

“Amelia!” he snaps, and she blinks at the force in his voice. “Enough! Listen to what I'm trying to tell you. Can you do that? Can you keep quiet for five seconds and actually listen to me? Why do you have to be like this? Why do you have to be so much like your mother?!”

Tears well in her eyes, lower lip trembling, but she refuses to give in. The rage she's feeling inside of that tiny body much more powerful than sadness.

“Lying is bad, daddy! You always tell us not to lie! And then you go and lie!”

“Amelia...” his voice is softer, palms out towards her, appealing for calm. “...I didn't mean to lie to you. I'm sorry. I just didn't know how to tell you. I wanted to wait.”

“You said you weren't going to fight the bad guys,” she continues, her nostrils flaring, hands tightly gripping the blanket on top of her. “You said you were going to stay home! With me and mommy and TJ and Tanner and Declan! That's what you said.”

“I know. I know what I said. And I'm sorry if I have to go against it. I'm not doing this to hurt you. I'm doing this because that daddy needs me to help.”

“But I need you here! You're my daddy and I need you here!”

“And I'll be back in two weeks. At the most. Then I'm all yours. I promise.”

“You're lying again,” she accuses, and it's like a bullet straight to his heart. The brutal honesty in her words, the anger and the pain that she's feeling and allowing to just come pouring out. 

“I'm not lying. I just need to go and help these people and then I'll come back. I promise.”

“You're lying!” she screams and launches herself at him. Tiny fists failing; beating against his shoulders and his chest, feet kicking at whatever they can make contact with.

“Stop,” he orders, laying his hands on her arms, easily pining them to her sides. “You need to stop.”

It's like she has the strength of a grown man. A demon possessing her, even. Surprisingly powerful and agile as she manages to slip out of his grasp, and he finds himself once more dodging slaps and punches and kicks.

“I said stop!” he yells, and roughly grabs a hold of her, angrily flipping her around so she has her back towards him, both arms tightly wrapping around her entire body, one of his legs trapping and pinning down both of hers.

Her entire body trembles with rage; every muscle taut and tense, sweat coating her body and dampening her hair. Yet despite his vice like grip, she still fights. And he has to turn his face away to avoid a headbutt to the nose. “You need to calm down! Calm down and take a breath. Stop this shit. Stop it right fucking now, understand me?

“No! Let me go! Let me go right now!”

“Amelia! Enough! I will let you go when you calm down. So just take a deep breath and...”

“I hate you,” she hisses, and the words cut through him. Inflicting more damage that any fist, knife, or bullet have ever managed.

His breath stops; wind completely knocked out of him. His heart aches: a piercing, agonizing pain unlike anything he's ever experienced. The tears are instant; hot and bitter as they trickle freely down his face. But he only holds her tighter. Letting her kick and squirm and scream until she wears herself out. Body becoming limp, chest heaving from excursion, heaving loud, wounded sobs.

“I want mommy,” she whimpers, and tries to wriggle away.

“Amelia...it's okay...just calm down. Calm down and listen to me. I promise you I'll be home soon.

“I want mommy!” she screams and manages a solid elbow to his sternum. “Go away! Leave me alone! I just want mommy.”

“You need to just calm down. Calm down and hear me out. Please.”

“No!” she finally wriggles free of him, throwing herself down onto her stomach, face buried in her blankets. “Just go away!” she sobs. “I just want mommy. I want my mommy.”

He heaves a heavy sigh, brushes away the tears from his cheeks and reluctantly climbs off the bed. Frowning when she angrily slaps away the hand he tries to lay on her head.

“I'm sorry,” he manages, the words barely audible, choked by the emotion that has lodged itself square in his throat. “I'm so sorry.”

“Go!” she orders. “Now! And don't come back!”

“Millie...” those words hurt even more than being told that she hates him. Its agonizing: knowing that he's caused her that much pain and distress. “...I'm sorry...I'm not doing this to hurt you...” she allows him to push hair away from her face. Her blue eyes furious as she looks at him.

“Don't come back EVER,” she hisses, and turns her face away from him.

“I'm sorry,” he can't say it enough. Even a million times would never suffice. He leans over the bed, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. Then he leaves the room, leaving his entire heart behind him.

****

An hour passes before Esme joins him in their bedroom, and he watches out of the corner of his eyes she lingers in the doorway, observing as he packs the last of his clothes. Grey and black fatigues mostly, with shirts to match. A couple pairs of jeans. Some cargo shorts. His body is tense, shoulders achingly tight. And he can feel the way the vein in the side of his neck throbs.

“I had to lie with her until she fell asleep,” his wife says, wringing her hands together, rocking back and forth on her heels. Still not moving away from the doorway. But she's out now. They all are.”

“Good,” he doesn't look away from the task at hand, eyes focused intently on the simple act of folding shirts and tucking them into the bag.

“The boys handled the news okay? They were already asleep when I went to check on them. Tanner actually had his arms around TJ. I'm surprised TJ put up with that. You know he likes to let on that he's a hard ass. I wonder where he gets that from.”

He smirks.

“So they did? Handle it okay?”

“You're making me fucking nervous standing there like that. Either come in or get out.”

She sighs, then steps fully into the room, using her foot to close the door behind her. Arms crossed over her chest as she slowly and cautiously approaches him. “I'm not here to fight,” she promises. “I'm just here to talk. And to help.”

“I don't need your help,” his tone is far harsher than it needs to be, and he immediately feels the pangs of guilt and regret. “But thank you,” he adds, voice softer, yet his eyes never meeting hers.

“The boys were okay?” she asks again, as she stands beside him, hands reaching for a simple black cotton t-shirt. “They handled it fine?”

“A lot better than their sister did, that's for sure.”

She runs her fingertips over some fraying at the neck of the t-shirt, then folds it and places it in the bag with the others. “She didn't mean it, Tyler. The things she said to you. She didn't mean them.”

“I know.”

“She's just a little girl,” she picks up a pair of his jeans, picking at the slight tear in the corner of one of the front pockets. They're weathered and tattered in places, but so is he. “Shy's just a little girl,” she continues. “She's only five.”

“I know how old my own daughter is.”

“She's just a baby still, really. You know how much she loves you. How much she idolizes you.”

He nods.

“She was just hurt,” Esme reasons, as she finishes folding the jeans and adds them to the pile of clothes. “And angry. She lashed out. All kids say they hate their parents at least once in their lives. I know I said it a few times as a teenager. Sometimes I still say it when it comes to my mom.”

“Yeah, well she can be real bitch. So I get that,” he moves to the dresser, taking a swig from a half full bottle of beer.

“She didn't mean it,” Esme repeats.

“I already said I know. What more do you want me to say? What do you want from me?”

“Oh, I don't know. Maybe an actual conversation instead of you biting my head off every time I say something. I'm not the enemy here, Tyler. We're in this together, remember?”

“Yeah? Well you're not that one that had your daughter...your five-year-old...try to beat the shit out of you.”

“You didn't hurt her if that's what you're worried about,” she knows that he often doesn't understand his own strength. Totally underestimate the sheer power inside of his body. “You restrained her. But you didn't hurt her and there's no bruises or anything like that. You did what you had to do. She's fine.”

“She's five. She weighs forty pounds soaking wet. I shouldn't have had to restrain her. Who does that? Who does that to their own kids?” He's disgusted with himself; it's in his voice, written all over his face.

“She was irrational and freaking out. You did what you had to calm her down. I don't hate you for that. And neither does she. You can't honestly believe that she meant what she said. She's a little kid.”

“A little kid that throws a wicked left hook,” he points out, nursing his beer as he leans back against the dresser, ass resting on the edge.

“Regardless, she didn't mean what she said. She doesn't actually hate you. And I know it hurt to hear that. I know it probably tore your heart right out of your chest. And I'm sorry you even had to hear her say it. But you know she loves you. You know she thinks the entire world revolves around you. That you can do no wrong.”

“Well she doesn't think all of that now, does she. So congratulations. You got your little girl back. You've got her all to yourself now.”

“This isn't a fucking competition, Tyler. You know I'm joking when I say those things. About how she loves you more and you're her favourite. It's true, but it doesn't actually bother me. She's a daddy's girl. It is what it is. But I don't hold it against you and I'm not serious when I say the things I do. Please tell me you know that. That you know I'm joking. I wouldn't say anything to intentionally hurt you.”

“I know.”

“Do you? Because right now it seems like you're projecting all of this shit onto me. I'm sorry things totally blew up in your face. That it went way worse than you ever thought it would. But I'm not the enemy. That's all you. You're your own worst enemy and you know it. So please...” she approaches him, standing between his thighs, running her hands along his face before clasping them together. at the nape of his neck. “...don't do this. Don't take what she said seriously.”  
“My daughter just told me she hates me. My five-year-old. Not a teenager. A little kid.”

“And she didn't mean it,” Esme insists. “She was just hurt. She was upset that you broke your promise to her. And maybe she went a little too far and totally overreacted...”

He smirks. “Wonder where she gets that from. That definitely comes from your genes.”

“...but do you really blame her? You're her entire world. She has seen you come back into this house with black eyes and broken bones and a busted nose. And that scares her. She thinks you're invincible. So it's hard for her to see you like that. It's hard for me to see you like that and I'm an adult. She's just a little girl. And she's pissed off and she's hurt because you broke a promise to her.”

“I never meant to...”

She places two fingers against his lips, silencing him. “You broke her heart. She was angry and she lashed out. Can you really blame her? I mean, she's five. This is a huge thing for her to have to deal with.”

He nods in agreement, then presses a kiss to the tips of her fingers before she removes them.

“She'll be fine,” his wife insists. “Tomorrow morning she'll wake up and be back to the same old Millie.”

“Only I won't be here to see it.”

“That was your decision. You knew it would be hard on her. But you made the decision and I supported you. I still support you. But please...” she holds his face in her hands, thumbs running along his lips. “...don't take what she said seriously.”

“She told me to never come back. Ever.”

“She was just hurt. Tomorrow night when you call or video chat or whatever, she won't even remember what she said. She'll be Millie again. I promise. She'll have a good night's sleep and be okay in the morning. She always is. She's tough. A hard ass. Just like her daddy.”

He manages a small smile, then lays a hand on the side of her, pressing a kiss to her forehead before moving to her lips. Indulging in a languid, lazy kiss before cupping the back of her head in one of his palms as his mouth breaks away from hers... His free hand gripping her ass his lips blaze a slow path along her jaw.

“You leave in an hour and a half,” she reminds him.

He grins. “I only need twenty minutes.”

***

In the soft glow cast by the bedside lamp, she watches him as he dresses; lustfully admiring his naked form. The way muscles in his back and shoulders twist and contract with each movement, the delicious bulging of his triceps and biceps. All hard muscle and smooth skin; tattoos and scars that she has long committed to memory through both sight and touch.   
He'd made her come...twice...with his mouth and his fingers. And then he'd pressed himself inside of her while her inner muscles were still throbbing and convulsing; baring his weight on outstretched arms as he moved inside of her. Her nails scraping across his shoulders and down onto his arms, legs around his waist and her ankles locked at the small of her back. It been so slow, achingly tender. His eyes locked on hers the entire time, even when exchanging deep, languid kisses. And after they'd both reached completion, she'd clung to him. Arms as tight as she could possibly get them, eyes closed as tears spilled down her cheeks. Wanting to remember that very moment...the way his heart hammered within his chest, the way he tasted, the way he smelled.

“You're staring,” he says now, his back still towards her, as he pulls on boxers, followed by a pair of jeans.

“Admiring,” she corrects, and he smiles at her over his shoulder, giving her a wink. “What time is it?”

He glances down at his watch. “Nine thirty.”

“Half an hour,” she says, and he nods. “I don't want you to go.”

“I don't really want to go either,” he admits, as he does up the fly and the button on the jeans, followed by his belt buckle.

“You're coming home.” It's a statement. Not a question.

“Fourteen days,” he promises. “Hopefully sooner.”

“Hopefully,” she agrees, and then sits up in bed, reaching for her own t-shirt that lies at the side of the bed. “You're okay?” she asks, as she pulls the fabric over her head, then smooths down her hair, pushing some strands behind both ears.

He nods. “Shoulder and knee hurt. But what else is new?”

“They're getting worse?”

“Feels like it some days. Other days, they feel great. It's what they doctor said would happen, yeah? That some days would be worse than others. That it's never going to get better. Only worse.”

“Which is another reason the new job will be good for you. Less stress on your body. You've already had a shoulder and a knee replaced and you're only forty.”

“Some days I feel like I'm eighty,” he sighs, and shrugs into a simple black, short sleeve button down shirt.

She climbs out of bed and stands in front of him, gently pushing his hands away, tending to the buttons on his shirt. She needs this moment, the intimacy with him that extends beyond sex. And she can feel him watching her, his eyes burning into the top of her head as her fingers work slowly and diligently.

“I hate this,” she says, as she finishes the last button and then uses her palms to smooth out the wrinkles in the fabric. “I hate this so much.”

“So do I.”

Her hands move over her chest and up onto his shoulders, tears in her eyes as she looks up at him.

Tyler gives a small smile, peck her lips, then takes her face in his hands and places a kiss on her forehead. She doesn't have to say the words,   
all the worry and the fear as plain as day on her face and in her eyes. “I know,” he says. “I know.”

She stands on her tip toes and curls her arms around his neck. And he places one hand on the small of her back and the other on the nape of her neck. Lips against her ear.

“I'm coming home,” he promises, and he feels her shaky intake of breath, hears her loud sniffle. “I'm coming home.”

***

Nik arrives at promptly nine thirty; both Michael McCann and Yaz in the backseat. The former gets out of the SUV. Helping Tyler load his things into the back before embracing Esme, enveloping her in a warm, comforting hug.

“You be safe,” she says, pecking his check. “Stay away from the bars. And the underage girls.”

“You just have to go and ruin all my fun,” he lightly complains, and then pecks her cheek before drawing away and clapping Tyler on the shoulder. “Take your time,” he says, and then slips back into the SUV, shutting the door behind him.

“I don't trust him,” Esme announces, as McCann gives her a soft smile. “Something doesn't feel right.”

“You're just on edge,” Tyler says, his hands shoved in his pockets. He hates goodbyes. They're always so awkward; even with her, even after five years of marriage and four kids. He never knows what to say. Or do. There's no words that will make things easier on her. Nothing he can do that will make the worry and the paranoia dissipate.

“Maybe,” she sighs, and then places her hands on his hips and rests her forehead against his chest. “I really wish you weren't doing this.”

Hr runs his hands over her shoulders and down to the small of her back. Eyes closing as he rests his chin on the top of his head. Every time he leaves it breaks him in two; one part dedicated to holding up his responsibilities to the job, the other wanting desperately to just stay there with her.

“Watch your back,” she says. “I just don't trust him. And you shouldn't either.”

One hand remains on the small of her back, the other he moves up to the nape of her neck. Fingers gently squeezing and kneading the tight muscles. “It's going to be okay,” he assures her, and when she tilts her head back to look at him, he presses his lips to her forehead.

“I'll miss you,” her voice is shaky, tears threatening one again.

“I'll miss you too. I'll call when I get checked in. So you know I got there safe and sound, okay?”

She nods.

He tangles his fingers in her hair and kisses her. The hand on her back drawing her tightly into him. And she perches herself up on her tip toes as she returns the kiss with everything she has; fists clutching at the front of his shirt. When the kiss ends, he nuzzles her temple, eyes closed once more as he breathes in that soft, familiar scent that clings to her hair. “I love you,” he whispers.

“I love you too,” she turns her face into his, pecking the corner of his mouth. “Be safe.”

“I will,” he promises, and his hand slips from the back of her neck, travelling down her arm, taking her hand in his and tightly squeezing as he takes a step back, offering a small smile and a wink.

She offers a weak smile of her own, then reaches up to brush his hair out of his eyes.

“Bye,” he leans in to kiss her once last time.

She manages a choked out 'bye' on her own, then watches helplessly as he walks around the front of the SUV, opening the door and then pausing before climbing in.

“Hey,” he calls. “I'll see you when I see you.”

Her smile is a little brighter now. It's the same thing he says to her every time he walks out the front door for a job.

“Yeah,” she says. “You will.”


	19. Chapter 19

Nik has managed to arrange a private flight; a jet owned by a high-profile business big wig she's provided previous -and successful- services for. He has all the toys and all the connections: his own gulf stream, no checking of passports and baggage through either the small municipal airport in Telluride or the much larger one in Belfast, a flight manifesto with all fictitious names, and absolutely no contact with the general public. Normally Yaz would fly them in and out of extractions, but with many unknowns and the need for him to run point on the tech side of things in Ireland, a private flight had been the best and safest choice.

Tyler had taken the seat at the very back of the jet; preferring to space himself out from the other two passengers and the small flight crew. He'd needed a chance to clear his head; a stampede of thoughts surging through his already weary brain. Unable to get Millie's meltdown out of his mind, the way she'd become a child possessed and he'd had to physically restrain her. Heart still aching over the words she'd said: “I hate you”, “Don't come back. EVER.” Stunned by the vehemence and hostility that had just spewed from such a tiny, innocent body. The look of the utmost betrayal written all over her face.

And his wife. That heartbroken, lost, and haunted look in her eyes when she'd kissed him goodbye. The way she'd clung to him when the made love for the last time; her hands slowly moving over his body, as if committing every inch of him to memory. Of their desire to have another baby: the first and last. And how he hopes and prays that the news doesn't come while he's away.

His eyes are closed, arms folded over his chest, legs stretched out under the seat in front of him when he feels someone slip into the seat beside him. And he cracks open one eye just as McCann, a glass of whiskey in his hand, plops down next to him. Part of him wants to tell the guy to fuck off; after all, he's the main reason behind Millie's meltdown and harsh words and Esme's heartbreak. But his more logical and humane side reminds him that this is a man who genuinely needs someone to prop him up Who is going through quite possibly the worst shit a husband and a father could ever deal with.

“It's always hard saying goodbye,” McCann says, as he sips his drink.

Tyler nods. “My wife takes it pretty bad. She's been struggling with some things. Since Dhaka.”

“PTSD?”

“Undiagnosed. But yeah, I think so.”

He'd been so caught up dealing with his own issues and getting Ovi the help he needed, that her struggles had bee pushed to the back burner. And they've spent so much time, effort, and energy during their five years of marriage having a babies and raising them, that he's never really pressed the issue of her getting some kind of help. But he sees it. Every day. The way she struggles with her up and down moods; hyper and manic one moment, horrifically down and depressed the next. Her battle with self confidence since having Declan and being unable to lose the last ten pounds she is always obsessing about. The sleep issues. The days when she can't even get out of bed because the weight of the world is just wearing her down.

“How about your kids?” McCann asked. “How do they handle it?”

“The baby's too young to understand anything. The twins handled it pretty well. They're just disappointed that we didn't get to do all the things I promised we would when I got back last week. My daughter...” he sighs, leaning his head back against the seat. “...she didn't take it too well.” He leaves it at that. It's too painful to relive, and the man sitting beside him doesn't need to know every detail of what goes on behind closed doors.

“She's a daddy's girl?”

Tyler nods. “Well, she was. I'm not so sure about now.”

“Kids are resilient,” the other man reasons. “By tomorrow she'll have bounced back and all will be forgiven.”

“I hope so. She's a stubborn little thing. Like her mother. She doesn't forgive and forget easily. If at all. I've been on my wife's shit list a few times and the past and it felt like I was never getting off of it. She's amazing though,” he smiles. “She's put up with a lot. Keeps putting up with a lot. I haven't always been the best husband for her. I'm not an easy person to live with. Yet she keeps hanging in there and giving me chance after chance.”  
While infidelity has never been an issue, his own struggles with mental health problems and substance abuse has caused a lot of angst within the last few years, as has his often volatile temper and his need for control and issues with seeing her as a possession instead of an actual person. But they've battled through it; a lot of fights, counselling, even a trial separation when the twins were only two.

They latter they'd kept a secret from everyone they knew. Friends and family alike. It had been the wake up call that he'd needed; living in a shitty hotel, relegated to seeing his kids once every two weeks, wanting so badly to beg and plead with her to just take him back yet his pride never actually allowing him to do it. For six months they'd lived like that. Barely speaking except for him he'd stop by to grab the kids or when he took them home. Never actually setting foot in the house, instead having to carry on awkward and tension filled conversations with her on the front porch. Until one night she'd called him and said she missed him. That she wanted him to come home.

After that he'd made it his mission to make up for all the bullshit he'd put her through.

“You're lucky,” McCann says. “That you found someone like that. Not many in the game manage to, you know. It's hard finding someone that gets it. That understands why we do what we do. It's a hard life. Not just for us, but for them too. Having to put up with us gone all the time, taking care of a house and a family all on their own. It's why so many people in this job never get married. Or if they do, it never lasts long.”

Tyler thinks about G. Finally meeting the love of his life and settling down, only to never get the chance to grow old and gray with his bride. 

“Drink?” McCann offers. “I can wave the stewardess over.”

“I'm fine, mate. Thanks. I'm trying to stay clean for a couple of weeks. I've been going a little overboard lately and I need to slow down. For my family.”

“Battles with the bottle?”

Tyler hesitates on using the word 'alcoholic'. He's never felt that things have been that out of control. At least not within the past five years.

“I struggle from time to time,” he admits. “It's my weakness. I try not to let it beat me.”

“Must be hard. Seeing what you see. Doing the things you do.”

“It has it's moments,” he agrees.

“You know,” McCann downs the remains of his drink, the motions to the stewardess that he'd like another. “You didn't have to stay in a hotel. I've got enough room at my place. Why waste the money?”

“I'm not actually paying for anything. Nik takes care of all that. I appreciate the offer, but I work better on my own. When I have my own space and my own little bubble. I focus a lot better. Besides, the last time I stayed under the same roof as someone while doing a job, I ended up marrying them. And no offence, but you're just not my type.”

McCann laughs at that. “None taken. I can definitely understand why you'd prefer to stay under the same roof with her. I hear Nik has a little project she's working on. Starting up the business in North America.”

Tyler nods.

“She said she asked you to run it. You given it much thought?”

“If I had to give my answer now, it would be yes. But ask me in two weeks. It all depends on how things go while we're in Ireland. Things go nice and smooth, then I go for it. Things go to shit, then I just go home and keep doing what I'm doing now. I've already told Nik this is my last year. That I'd give her twelve months and than I was walking away. My family needs me. They deserve to have me home. And we're trying to have another baby, so...”

“Another one? Five all together? You're mighty brave. Both of you. Why not go for two? Make it an even half dozen?”

“I don't think my wife would go for that. Unless this one ends up being twins too. If I do take the offer from Nik, I'd be home more. Not so much time out in the field. And let's face it, I'm not getting any younger. My mind may say yes, but my body is very much telling me no. I don't know how much more I can put it through before it just gives out entirely.”

“I keep telling myself...and my wife...that I'm going to give it up,” the other man muses. “I've been saying it every year for the last six. But something always comes up and I just keep hanging in there. My wife's a lot like yours. Stubborn as all hell. Fiery temper. Likes to hold a grudge from time to time. But she keeps me around. Lord knows why. I've put her through a lot. Because of the job,”

“I guess we're both lucky then,” Tyler reasons. “We both managed to find that balance. Between the job and a real life. It's not easy. Far from it. But it's worth it. Every time she smiles at me. Every time my kids hug me or tell me they love me. It makes all the bullshit worth it.”

McMann nods in agreement, slowly sipping his drink. Contemplative now. Eyes dark. Lips set in a thin, firm line.

“We'll find them, mate,” Tyler assures him. “We'll find them, and we'll bring them home.”

“I've been thinking about what you said the other day. When you talked about why you didn't want to be the one to get the kids. About not wanting to have to choose between the two of them. If you knew you could only get one or the other.”

“I never should have said that. I was way out of line. I never...”

“You made a very valid point. As much as it hurt to hear you say it. What if you couldn't get both out at once? What if you knew there'd be no chance of going back to get the other? How would you decide? If you had to pick between your two sons. Your twins. Which one would you pick?”

“I wouldn't,” Tyler's answer comes easily. With absolutely no hesitation. There isn't a scenario that he hasn't run through his mind at least once or twice. A solution that he hasn't come up with. “If it came down to that, I’d make a deal. My life for both of theirs. If something like that were to happen, it would mean that whoever it is, is after me. They don't want my kids. Not really. They just know that taking my kids will bring me to them. I'd give them what they want. Me. As long as it means they let go of my kids.”

“And if they won't? Let them go?”

“Then they better make sure the first bullet is the one that kills me. Because I won't go down easily. I'll do whatever it takes to save my kids. Or my wife. So they better make sure they put me down permanently the first time because I'm going to just keep getting back up.”

McMann nods slowly, considering the words as he swirls the ice within his glass.

“If you're not willing to do that, what the hell are we even doing here, mate? If you're not willing to sacrifice yourself for your kids, so they can live and get home to their mother, why are you even bothering with all of this? You know it's you that they want. They're just using your family to get to you. If it comes down to it, are you willing to give yourself up so your kids will get back to their mom?”

“They have to have a mom to get back to you. That's your job.”

“And I'll do my job. I'll find your wife. I'll get her out of there. But I'm not worried about my end of things. I've got my shit under control. But if you're not willing to give up your life for your kids, this is all for nothing. You don't offer yourself up, they'll kill all of you. You pick one kid over the other and you'll kill yourself in the end. Because you'd never be able to look at yourself in the mirror again. You wouldn’t be able to live with yourself. So you better be ready for that, mate. To make that choice. Yourself or them. Because it's a damn good possibility that that's going to happen.”

McCann finishes his drink in one large gulp. Coughing as the whisky burns his throat. “And what if you've got a choice to make? When you find my wife? If they want your life for hers? What decision are you making?”

“It's simple,” Tyler says. “I'm going home to my family. And it's not going to be in a body bag.”

The other man blinks at the brutal honesty.

“Let's get one thing straight. I'm here to help you. I'm not here to die for you. For any of you. If it comes down between me and your wife, I'm being a selfish bastard and choosing me. Because I've got my own wife at home. I've got four kids. And I made a promise to all of them that I was coming home. Alive. And no one is going to stop that from happening.”

“Your family gets the money,” McCann reminds him. “If you don't make it, they still get the money. As long as my wife gets out of there.”

“I don't give a shit about the money. Five and a half years ago, when I had a death wish, I would have gladly gone in there and offered myself up for a complete stranger. Back then I wouldn't have given a shit. I was close to putting a bullet in my own head, so it wouldn't have mattered if someone did it for me. But now? I have way too much to lose. People that count on me. Depend on me. And as big of a dick as I sound for saying it, your wife's life is not worth more than mine.”

“I'm counting on you, Rake. I'm counting on you to get her out of there. To make those bastards pay. Don't fuck me over just because all of a sudden you can't take the heat or because you get a little squeamish.”

“I can take the heat. And I don't get squeamish. We're not buddies. We're not partners. So you better watch who you threaten. I'm not scared of you. Or your buddies in the IRA. You asked for my help. I could have easily just told you to fuck off and leave me alone. But I'm here. I'm on your side. And if you're the one that's planning to fuck me over, you better start thinking twice right about now.”

“You don't trust me?”

“I don't trust anyone. It isn't personal. If I find out there's any hidden agenda or something you're not telling me, you better run and hide. Run far. Find the darkest, deepest hidden place you can. I will come for you. If I get to Belfast and this was all some kind of bullshit to get me away from my family...to make me vulnerable...there isn't going to be a place I can't find you.”

McCann smirks. “Now you're threatening me?”

“That's not a threat. That's a promise. Don't fuck me over. I'm warning you right now. Because if I come for you, you better have a goddamn army to help you out. All those stories you've heard? The things I've done? The people I've killed. They're all true. Bigger and better than you have tried to put me down. And I'm still here. So if this is some kind of game...”

“This is all true. Every word of it. The videos you saw. All real. This isn't some kind of ploy to get you into a strange place and catch you off guard. This is exactly what it is. A job. I need your help. No games. No bullshit.”

“Fair enough,” Tyler says, once more leaning his head back against the seat and closing his eyes. Hoping the other man will take the hint and leave him alone.

“You just do your job, Rake. You get my wife out of there and you make those bastards pay. In whatever way you have to. I need you to give me your word. That you won't leave her there. That you won't just drop her off in the middle of nowhere or leave her in the street. At least give me that. At least give me your word that you'll do whatever it takes. That you'll make them pay.”

He sighs and opens his eyes, seeing the hand that is being offered.

“You have my word,” he says, and they shake on it.

*****

While not exactly five star, the hotel in Belfast is a far cry from the one he’d stayed at in Dhaka. Clean. Spacious enough for two queen sized beds. Fresh carpet and paint; no unusual or concerning stains lingering on the walls. No weird smells. No obnoxious noise from the street below. Running water -hot water at that- and a normal shower and tub. A toilet that flushes.

There’s two closets. The first one he uses to stash his clothes and personal effects. The second he uses for the ruck sack filled with weapons; using an abnormally large and powerful combination lock looped through the handles on the doubles door to keep it safe and secure. He removes the holster from his right hip; setting both it and the Glock in the top drawer of the nightstand that separates the two beds.

He hangs the Do Not Disturb sign on the outside of the hotel room door, then sets both the locks; deadbolt and flimsy chain. Toes his boots off and leaves them in front of the closet that holds the weapons. The SAT phone he uses to send a message to Nik that he’s arrived and to expect a call soon from her brother, then he places it in the drawer next to the Glock. There’s an unlocked mini bar in the far corner; next to the dresser and the wall mounted TV. Locating the remote, he turns the latter on and selects a local news channel, volume on low as he grabs a travel bottle of scotch from the bar and cracks open the seal. He doesn’t even consider grabbing a glass from the small kitchenette, taking a long pull straight from the bottle as he stands in front of the sliding glass door that leads out onto the small balcony. The room overlooks the downtown area, much cleaner than the market area in Dhaka. Less populated. White mini lights strung up in the trees that line the curbs, shops with illuminated closed signs, flashing neon advertising which bars and restaurants are open to patrons. 

His stomach growls. Prompting him to make a mental note to order room service.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he places the bottle of scotch on the floor and his elbows on his knees, running his hands over his weary face, then clasping his hands together and closing his eyes. Contemplating his first moves when the new day breaks. He has to wait for Yaz to get some information; even the smallest tidbit that will send him in the right possible direction. Wandering aimlessly through town will only draw unnecessary attention. People will find who he is and what he’s there for when the time is right.

He opens his eyes, meeting his own reflection in the glass. His beard needs a trim. He already needs to take the clippers to the shortest parts of his hair. 

He’ll do that in the morning.

Taking another swig of scotch, he stands up; wincing as his knees crack noisily. He finds his cell phone in the inside pocket of the flack jacket that he’d worn from the airport and now hangs in the unlocked hall closet. Hitting the second number on speed dial as he slides open the patio door and steps outside. The air is crisp and fresh; an unusually cool evening for summer in Ireland, he’d been told by the desk clerk. And he takes a seat on one of the patio chairs just as the call reaches the fourth ring and someone finally answers.

“Hey,” he greets, his heart immediately feeling a hundred pounds lighter at the familiar sounds of his ‘normal’ life in the background; the dog barking, the kids squabbling, the baby giggling and attempting speech. 

“Hey,” he can hear the relief in her voice. He knows she’s smiling. “Did you just get in?”

“About half an hour ago.”

“What time is it there?”

“Eight thirty. PM.” He does the math in his head. He’s seven hours ahead. Making it one thirty, her time.

“How was the flight?”

“Long. No issues though. I don’t know who this guy is that Nik knows or what she has on him that he’s so willing to cough up his private jet, but I’m not going to complain.”

‘Maybe they’re friends. Special friends. If you catch my drift.”

He grins. “Maybe. I’m sure she has a lot of special friends.”

“You sound tired.”

“I am. Tired. Sore. Hungry.”

“Well make sure you eat. I know how you get when you start throwing yourself into something. You won’t do anyone any good if you’re trying to run on an empty tank.”

He smirks. “Worrying about me from even thousands of miles away, huh?”

“It’s what I do, Tyler. I worry. I try to take care of you. It would be a lot easier if you weren’t so damn stubborn. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he picks the bottle of scotch up off the ground and takes a swig. “You okay?”

“I guess. As good as I can be. The first couple of days are the worst. But I manage.”

“The kids?”

“They’re doing okay. They get sad and weepy every now and then. Tyler is grumpy as all hell. He is so much like you. He even has the same facial expressions when he’s mad or irritated. I see so much of you in him. Tanner is really stepping in to help him through things. He’s an old soul, that one. He’s just so sensitive and so intuitive. Such a big heart in such a tiny body.”

“Like his mom. All the best stuff he got from you.”

“Oh I don’t know about that. He got some pretty amazing things from you, too.”

He smiles at that. “And Millie?” 

“She’s pretty bitchy. I’ve had to send her to her room twice already today. She’s just snapping at everything and taking it out on her brothers. She’s stronger than she looks. She almost beat the living shit out of Tyler because he looked at her the wrong way. And you know how strong and tough he is. Your daughter does not take shit from anyone. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. I mean, at least we know she’ll be able to handle herself when she gets older if some asshole tries anything with her. But at the same time, she should not be beating the crap out of her brothers. She even goes after the baby. And all he’s doing is baby things.”

“I’ll talk to her tomorrow. If she’ll talk to me, that is.”

“She’ll be fine, Tyler. She’ll be happy to hear your voice. She’s already asked about you. Three times. If you’d gotten to Ireland yet and if you’d called to say you were okay. I know she feels bad. For what she said to you. Please don’t let it bother you. She’s a little girl. She just worries about you and misses you. She didn’t mean what she said. Don’t hold it against her.”

“I don’t. I just thought I had a lot of years to go before she said something like that. Like when I started scaring potential boyfriends off. I swear to God, if she brings home some guy with weird hair and tattoos…”

“You basically just described yourself,” his wife laughs.

“You like my hair.”

“I love your hair. You know she’s going to bring someone home that you just despise, right?”

“I’m going to despise all of them. Not just one of them. All of them. None of them will be good enough for her. Not a single damn one.”

“I’m sure someone will come along that you like. Maybe someone like you. A military guy.”

“Uh, yeah, no. That’s definitely not what I want for her.”

“I don’t know, you’re a pretty good catch. And you’re ex military. So…”

“Ex. You hit the nail on the head. Ex. Look what I do now. Is that really what you want for our daughter? This kind of life?”

“I think you’re overreaching. There’s a big difference between her finding a military guy and her finding a mercenary. And where would she ever find one of those?”

“You found me,” he points out.

“Only because I was already in the job. Our paths would never have crossed if I hadn’t had been. I doubt that is going to be a lifestyle that she choice. She’s beautiful and smart and…”

“So are you.”

“…and we’ll do our best to get her on a different path. That’s years away, Tyler. Why stress about it now? And why talk as if this is the worst possible life to have? It isn’t. I know you get down on yourself and you think you’re a failure as a husband and a father. You think that I hate you and that I hate this life. But I’ve never once hated you. Ever. And I don’t hate this life. It’s not my most favourite thing and it’s hard. But I walked into this. Willingly. I fell in love with you. I chose you. And I don’t regret that. So please don’t ever think I do.”

Silence falls between them as he considers her words; the power of them both comforting and overwhelming. And he closes his eyes against the hot, bitter tears that threaten.

“Tyler?”

He clears his throat noisily. “Yeah?”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he assures her. “I miss you.”

“Already?” he can practically hear the grin on her face. “That was quick.”

“I missed you the second I got on the plane,” he admits. 

“I miss you too, baby. It was hard this morning. Waking up and not having you there. With your messy hair and your sleepy little grin. The way you kiss me awake. And the way you do other things to wake me up.”

He grins at that. 

“Most of all, I just miss you. I miss your smell. The sound of your voice. Your smile. The way it crinkles the corners of your eyes. I miss all those things.”

He can hear the emotion in her voice; the way it chokes at her. And he can’t hold back the tears any longer; allowing them to flow freely down his cheeks and the sides of his nose. 

“Please be safe,” her voice is barely above a whisper. “Because if anything happens to you…”

“I’ll be fine,” he assures her, and uses the back of his hand to wipe the tears away. “You know how you said you didn’t trust McCann? That something about him just doesn’t feel right? And I said you were probably just on edge? Well I’m starting to think you’re right.”

The line crackles as she moves the phone from one ear to the other. “What’s happened?”

“Just a conversation we had on the plane. The other day when we first met, he wanted me to be the one that goes for the kids. I told him that I couldn’t do it. That I wouldn’t do it. That I didn’t feel confident that I’d be able to safely get three of us out. One kid was enough in Dhaka. And he was a teenager. Not a little one. I told him that he should be the one to get his kids. That I’d deal with the wife.”

“Makes sense. I mean, they might panic if they saw you. A complete stranger all dressed up like he’s going to war. That would just make things worse if they got scared and freaked out. They won’t do that if it’s their dad.”

“Exactly what I thought. It just makes more sense. I brought up what would happen if I could only get myself and one of them out of there. How would I make that kind of decision? About which kid lives or dies?”

“Tyler…” she sighs. “…don’t do this…”

“He threw it back in my face on the plane. He asked me how I would choose. If it came down to the twins. If I knew I could only get one of them out alive. Which one would I pick?”

“Tyler…”

“I told him I wouldn’t. That I’d make a deal. My life for both of theirs. It’s me someone would want. Not them. They’d just be using the kids to get to me.”

Silence from the other end.

“Esme?”

“I’m here,” the sadness hangs heavily in her voice. “Tyler, why are you…?”

“I would do it. In a heartbeat. Offer myself up for them. For any of my kids. For you.”

“I know. But…”

“It was weird. How he responded to that. Like he wasn’t on the same page. What father wouldn’t do that for their kids? Especially when he knows that he’s the one they want? What father wouldn’t give himself up to save his children? I can’t wrap my head around that. Then he asked me I’d do if it came down to saving myself or his wife.”

“And you said…”

“I told him that her life isn’t worth more than mine. That I have my own wife and my own family and I’m going home to them. And it’s not going to be in a body bag. I’m pretty sure he thinks I’m a selfish prick now.”

“It’s not selfish. It’s smart. It’s self preservation.”

“There’s something not quite right about this guy. I didn’t like the way he acted when I talked about how he might have to sacrifice himself for his kids. He was reluctant. He wasn’t willing to make that choice. And that’s fucked up. To me, anyways. It should be an easy decision to make. At least in my eyes.”

“Be careful, Tyler. Watch your back. Even more so than you usually do. Something isn’t right here. And I think you’re beginning to think that way too.”

“Yeah…” he finishes off the scotch. “…I am. I miss you,” he says once more. “I miss you so fucking much.”

“I miss you too. Be safe, okay? Come home in one piece.”

“I will. I promise.”

“Go and get something to eat. And try to get some sleep. You’ve got a big job ahead of you. I’m proud of you, just so you know. I’m so proud of you, Tyler. For doing the things you do. For other people. I know it’s not easy on you. But you still do it. You still put people ahead of yourself. Even knowing the consequences. Even knowing the ending might be horrible. You’re the strongest person I know. And the bravest. Whether you want to hear that or not. Whether you want to admit it. Ovi was right. When he said you were brave for rescuing people. You are.”

“I love you,” he manages through another wave of tears. “Just know that I love you. That I always have, I always will.”

“Please don’t talk like that. It sounds so…final.”

“I just want you to hear it. I just want you to remember it. Just in case.”

“I love you too. I’ve loved you right from the beginning. I meant it. When I said it to you on that bridge. I know it was way too soon. It shouldn’t have made any sense. But I meant it. I love you and I can’t wait for you to come home. Please be careful.”

“I will. I’ll call you tomorrow. Hug and kiss the kids for me. Tell them I love them. That I miss them. That I’ll be home soon.”

“I will,” she promises. “And eat, Tyler. Get something in your stomach. And then get some sleep. Or try to at least.”

“I love you,” he says one last time.

“I love you, too. We’ll talk soon.” And with that, she disconnects the call.

Sighing, he places his cell phone on the ground beside the empty bottle of scotch and runs his hands over his face. Unable to shake the feeling that he’s walking straight into hell.


	20. Chapter 20

She stares at the cellphone in her hands; trying desperately to keep back the flood of tears that threaten. Tears of worry. Sadness. Relief. Anger, even. And frustration. So much frustration. That he’s been sent into yet another shitty situation. It’s willingly. Offering himself up for people that don’t even know him, putting himself into harms way like some sort of sacrificial lamb for strangers that…for the most part…don’t understand the choices he has to make on their behalf. The danger he puts himself in. The lives he has to take. The way that he’ll have to escape death just trying to keep them alive. Most never express thanks: very few of those who are rescued -and even less of their families- ever offer up even the smallest bit of gratitude. He’s being paid, they figure. He’s taking the money. Isn’t that enough gratitude?

“Mommy?” TJ is at her side, looking up at her with those huge blue eyes. One of which is going to be black and blue in a few hours; Millie had caught him square in the face with a right hook. A knee to the face causing a bloody nose. 

“Let me see…” she sets her cell phone down and hooks a finger under his chin, tilting his head backwards. “She got you pretty good, huh?”

He nods, not even flinching when her fingertips press against the swollen orbital bone and the bridge of his nose.

Definitely his father’s son.

“Well nothing’s broken,” she says, a sigh of relief escaping her lips. 

She’s tended to many of her husband’s injuries. Seen a lot of bloody noses and black eyes and a hell of a lot worse. Fractured ribs, both stab and gunshot wounds. She’s pulled shards of glass and other debris out of his skin with a pair of tweezers. In Dhaka she’d stitched up a wound on his right bicep with a needle and run of the mill sewing thread. Without anything to dull the pain. And she’s seen the aftermath of shoulder and knee replacements; the one that would clean the incisions and apply fresh bandaging when homecare nurses weren’t able to make it.

He holds up a sandwich bag with near melted ice cubes in, and she takes it to the sink and dumps it out before adding fresh cubes from the freezer and tying the bag up tight. “Does she look worse than you?” she asks, as she presses the ice to the bridge of his nose.

“I didn’t hit her back, mommy. She’s a girl. Daddy said never to hit a girl. No matter what. That it’s wrong. Did daddy ever hit you?”

“Daddy knows better. He knows I’d drop him. But he wouldn’t do that, anyway. He’d never hit any girl. Especially me.”

“I’d beat him up. If you did. Just so you know.”

She leans down and presses a kiss to his lips. “You keep the ice on it for a little while longer, okay? Just to keep the swelling down. You’re going to have a hell of a shiner tomorrow. You’ll get to show that off to daddy when he video chats with you guys. He wanted me to tell you that he’s safe and sound in Ireland. And that he loves you and misses you. He misses you so much.”

“I miss him too. Maybe he won’t be gone for very long.”

“Maybe. Hopefully. Here…” she takes his hand and places it against the back of ice against his nose. Then moves to the freezer once again and takes out three popsicles. “One for you and Tanner and one for Ovi. Can you ask him to watch you guys for a little bit longer? There’s something I need to do. Someone I need to call. Can you ask him, please?”  
Her son nods, then turns his face up for another kiss  
.  
“You’re my favourite,” she says with a wink, and pecks his lips. “And be careful out there, please. I don’t need you breaking an arm or a leg. Or a neck. Just take it easy, okay?”

“Okay mommy,” he chirps, as he rushes from the kitchen. Nearly colliding with the glass patio door that he’d forgotten he’d shut behind him. 

“Tyler…” she sighs. “…really?”

“Ooops,” he giggles, then gives a shrug as he hurries outside.

****

She stands over the sink and watches him through the window, bounding across the deck in his bare feet, leaping from the top step and hitting the ground running. The landing never even breaking his stride; those long, lanky legs carrying him through the grass to where Ovi is pushing Declan in the baby swing and Tanner in the regular sized one. TJ begins handing out the popsicles and explains to Ovi what she had asked, and the teenager looks up towards the house and gives her an okay sign.

Picking up her cell phone, she flips open the cover of the case and plucks a business card from the inside fold. She wasn’t planning on hanging onto it; she’d taken their conversation at the park as a one off and was going to just throw the card away and get on with her life. Satisfied that she’d been able to give him the absolution that he’d desperately searching for. Finally able to put that long and dark chapter of her life behind her. 

Instead, she finds herself dialing the number, leaning sideways against the counter as it rings on the other end. Nervously drumming her fingertips against the granite, tapping one foot against the floor.

“Are you busy?” she inquires, before he even manages to get a whole greeting out.

“Esme?” Shocked. But pleased.

“I really need to talk to you. Do you have a few minutes? I wouldn’t have called you if this wasn’t important. If I didn’t think you were the right person to go to.”

“I’ve got some time to spare. Anything for you. You know what. What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“Tyler’s in Ireland. On a job. And I don’t trust the person that he’s working with. The one that asked him for his help to begin with. I need you to look some things up for me. I’d do it myself, but with four kids to manage on my own.."

“Let me just grab a piece of paper and pen…” there’s a slight rustling noise as he searches for the items in question. “…go ahead. What is it?”

“I need you to look up the name Michael McCann. M…C…capital C…A…N…N…”

“Got it.”

“He says he’s ex IRA. I’m worried he’s still active IRA. That should be available info, right?”

“Should be. There’s always articles about those guys. They’ve been a little quiet the last couple of years, but there’s bound to be something. You know what his role was? Or might still be?”

“By the sounds of things, he might have been…or still is…some kind of intel. An inside man. He knows a lot of secrets. He’s done a lot of dirty work for them. He might still be doing dirty work for them. That’s what I need you to find out. I need to know what this guy’s story is. The real story. Not the line that he’s been feeding Tyler.”

“Is he falling for it? The line?”

“No. I think he’s starting to realize that something isn’t quite right. None of this is sitting right, Mark. It’s leaving a bad taste in my mouth. He is not who he says he is. He came to Tyler for help. He suddenly just showed up in Telluride one day. Said he’d even followed him while he was in Guatemala.”

“How did he know Tyler was in Guatemala?”

“There’s someone giving him information. Someone that works for Nik. I haven’t even started to look into that yet. But I will. This guy says that he tracked Tyler down through me. That he’d heard about what happened in Dhaka and somehow my name got out there as being connected to it. Which is weird, because Nik said she kept that on the downlow. I don’t even have a personal file with her. I was a ghost. I didn’t even exist as far as the outside world was concerned.”

“The worldwide web is vast, Esme. You can find information on anyone. And if he heard your name and somehow connected that to this Nik…”

“He told Tyler that someone I used to work with told him my name. Which makes no sense because how would that person even know I was in Dhaka? And how would they tie me to Tyler? We weren’t married then. I still had my maiden name. So where would they get Esme Rake from? It makes no sense.”

“Well they’ve gotten it somewhere. Information is easy to find if you know the right people. And have the right amount of cash.”

She sighs. “I suppose so.”

“This guy just showed up? In Telluride?”

“He asked Tyler for help. Said that his wife and his kids were taken by the IRA. Had videos of them and everything. All bound up, beaten to shit. I didn’t see them. Tyler watched them. He said they were legit. And Tyler’s instincts are never wrong. He’s being doing this a long time. He knows when something is bullshit. He would have known right away if it was just a game. He doesn’t just jump blindly into things.”

“Could it be some kind of elaborate ruse? It isn’t unlike terrorist organizations to do pull out all the stops. It could be someone that is after Tyler. Someone that feels slighted. Someone he crossed paths with or got the drop on.”

“Tyler says he’s never dealt with the IRA. He’s never even been to Ireland. Until now.”

“Doesn’t mean someone he’s pissed off doesn’t have connections to them. Strong enough connections that they’d do a favour for them. Loyalty runs deep, Esme. And money runs even deeper. I’m sure Tyler’s pissed off a lot of people. Not that I don’t agree with what he does. Because I do. I’m quite fond of vigilantism myself. I admire him for taking on other peoples’ shit and doing the dirty jobs no one else wants to do.”

“So what do you think?” she asks, as she moves to the fridge, opening it and taking out a bottle of water. Fingers briefly lingering on the wine before changing her mind and shutting the door with her hip. “Sounds weird, right?”

“I’ve heard weirder, to be honest. Could be something. Could be nothing. I’ll look into it for you.”

“Off the books, right?”

“What do you mean? What…?”

“Mark, I know what you do. My mom told me. I know you’re FBI.”

He sighs.

“You didn’t have to keep it a secret. It’s no big deal. So you’re a Fed, so what? This means you have connections, right? You have ways of finding out shit that normal people wouldn’t be able to do? And you must know people that know people. People that have even farther reach and deeper connections. Right?”

“Esme…”

“This is between the two of us. I do not want this getting out there. And I especially do not want Tyler finding out. Not yet. Not until you dig something up. If there is anything to dig up. Can you do that for me? Everything off the books? Between us?”

“I can. I probably shouldn’t. But I can.”

She sips her water, glances out the window and watches Ovi and the kids are they feed the chickens and goats. “There’s something else.”

“Go ahead.”

“I know this is a lot to ask of you. So feel free to tell me to fuck off.”

“I’ve gotten myself in this far. Might as well jump right into the deep end. What is it?”

“Do you know anyone in Ireland? And by that I mean people like you. Feds. Ex Feds. Ex Marines even?”

“I know a couple. Why?”

“If I send you Tyler’s info…his cell number, his SAT number, where he’s staying…can you get someone to monitor all that?”

“Doesn’t he have his own people keeping an eye on him?”

“An extra pair of eyes wouldn’t hurt. I just want someone to watch out for him. He’s going into this alone, Mark. With nothing but the word of this McCann guy to go on. If something goes wrong and Tyler’s people can’t reach him or find him…”

“You’re really stirring the shit pot here. I highly doubt he wants you doing all this. What’s going to happen when he finds out? Because he will. Find out.”

“I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. Please Mark. I need your help. And I know you can do this. This isn’t easy for me. Asking for help. Especially from you. And it can’t be easy for you either. Me asking for help for something that involves my husband.”

“It’s a little…awkward,” he admits.

“He saved me, Mark. In every way a person can be saved. My life was so different after we broke up. I was in a really dark place that I didn’t think I’d ever get out of. That I didn’t know if I really wanted to get out of. I became a completely different person than the one you remember. Tyler came into my life at a time where I needed someone the most. And it shouldn’t have happened the way it did. It was stupid and it was dangerous, and it never should have gone down like that. But it did. And I don’t regret it. I don’t regret falling in love with him. Or staying in Australia. Or getting married and having kids. His kids. You said you just wanted me to be happy.”

“I do. That’s all I want, Esme.”

“Then help me. Please. Because I can’t lose him, Mark. I almost lost him once. And this time I don’t want to lose him for good. I need your help. And that’s what would make me happy.”

He sighs heavily. “Send me the information. Email. I have an account on a protected server. I’m sending you the address now.”

And with that, he disconnects the call.

*****

Tyler’s not sure how long how he’d been asleep for. After devouring three orders from room service and opening up another bottle of scotch, he’d stretched on one of the beds to watch the local news. Fully intending on staying up in case Yaz had already gotten to work and was able to dig up some information to send him. He’s still lying on his stomach in middle of the bed; fully dressed, sheets and blankets not even turned down, his cell phone lying next to him, feet up by the headboard. Jolted awake by a sharp rap of knuckles upon the door. 

His head swims: a mixture of booze and the painkillers he’d taken after he ate. A dull ache in the base of his neck as he places his chin on the forearm he’d been using as a pillow, eyes blinking against the harsh light of the cell phone screen within the dark room.

12:53.

His time? Colorado time? He doesn’t even know anymore. It couldn’t be the latter. Not if it had already been one in the afternoon when he spoke to Esme. He was tired; but he wasn’t THAT tired. There’s no possible way he’d sleep that long. Even with the help of meds and alcohol. And he’s pretty sure he changed the time on his cellphone. Or maybe it had done it itself.

He clears sleep out of his eyes, rubs at the back of his neck. Internally yells at his muddled and disoriented brain to get shit its shit together.

The knocking continues. Louder. More insistent. And he attempts to ignore it, switching positions on the bed and resting his head back on one of the pillows. The smooth cotton of the pillowcase cool against the back of his head. Eyes closed; hands clasped together at his chest. Knowing if he just stays quiet, whoever it is will just fuck off and leave him alone. Whatever it is, it can wait until the morning. And he’s just beginning to nod off again when he hears whispering from in the hall; Irish accents, two female, one male. One of the female’s asking the other two if they’d seen the man that he’d checked into the room. Had he left sometime in the middle of the night? If he did, do they know if he came back? He can’t make out the reply, but there’s a heavy sigh followed by more knocking. 

It’s louder. More intense. A different sound than what knuckles make against wood. The dull thud that ensues when you use the toe of a sneaker or a boot.

His eyes snap open and he reaches for the top drawer on the nightstand, quietly pulling it out and then slipping the Glock from the holster. Flicking off the safety as he slips off the bed and silently makes his way towards the door. Pausing with a hand on the deadbolt as he listens; trying to pick up any hints of a conversation or any other noises coming from the hallway. Palm resting against cool, smooth wood as he peers out the peephole.

She’s young. Twenty at the most. A simple grey hoodie and blue jeans. A ball cap pulled over bright red hair. Carrying a purse along her left forearm, cell phone in her hand. A file folder clasped in her right. She pounds at the door now, slamming her fist against it with all the power she can muster. 

He holds the Glock down at his side, opens the deadbolt but leaves the chain across. A foot against the door, preventing her from trying to open it further.

“Who are you?” he asks. 

“Are you the Australian?”

“Yeah, I suppose I am. Answer my question now.”

“Can I come in?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I have no idea who the hell you are.”

“I’m Erin.”

“Erin what?” he presses.

“Ferguson.”

“What the hell do you want, Erin Ferguson? It’s almost one in the morning. How’d you know who I was? Where to find me?”

“A lot of people know who are,” she says. “You’re the Australian. Here to get Michael McMann’s wife and kids back.”

He smirks. “Word travels fast. Who’s they? And how did they find out?”

“They. As in the people who have them. The people who took his wife and his kids. The people who are watching your wife and your kids.”

Tyler’s blood runs cold. Hand tightening around the Glock. “What did you just say?”

She cocks her head to the side, a smirk curving her lips. “Can I come in now?”

“No. Whatever you have to say, you say it right where you’re standing. What do you mean they’re watching my wife and my kids? The IRA?”

She nods. 

“Why?”

“Because you’re sticking your nose in other peoples’ business. You don’t belong here, Australian. This isn’t your fight. If you knew what was good for you…for your family…you’d leave. Right now.”

“If you knew what was good for you, you’d stop talking in riddles. And you’d know that I have a loaded gun behind the door and my finger is already on the trigger. So stop the bullshit and tell me who you are and what you want, or I won’t think twice about putting one between your eyes, you hear me?”

That wipes the smirk off her face.

“Who are they” he repeats. “The IRA? You’re working for them?”

“I work for a lot of people,” she says. “They asked me to give you this. As proof.” She offers the file folder.

“Proof of what?”

“That they aren’t messing around. That you’ve gotten yourself mixed up in something that you never should have wandered into it. What goes on between them and McCann is their business. Not yours.”

“It became my business when McCann hired me. So you go back to whoever you’re working for and tell that their games won’t work on me. I don’t scare easily. And it’s them that’s gotten mixed up in something they don’t want to be mixed up in. I don’t fuck around. I’ll find his wife. And his kids.”

“And the risk of losing your own?”

“They’ll never get near my wife or my kids. They can try. But it won’t happen. You tell them I said that. And you tell them that if they so as much go near my family, I’ll come after them personally. And they won’t like the results. Tell them that. You tell them exactly what I said. That I’ll bring them within an inch of their lives and then I’ll stop and start all over again. You got that?”

She nods, shoves the folder toward him.

“Put it on the ground,” he orders. “And then back away. Nice and slow. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

She places the folder on the carpet and does as she’s told, hands up as she slowly steps backwards, until she’s almost pressed against the door across the hall.   
Tyler removes the chain from the door and pulls it open, casting a glance down both ends of the hall, keeping the Glock pointed at her. “Now go. Move. To the elevator.”

She walks backwards; hands still up, eyes never wavering from his. She never blinks. Never shows any signs of fear or nervousness with a gun trained on her. 

“Press the button,” he orders. “Get on when the elevator gets here. Go back and tell them exactly what I said.”

He waits, gun still focused on her, until the lift finally arrives and she steps on. Not picking up the envelope and backing into his room until he hears the elevator doors slide closed and he knows she gone for good.

***

He hurriedly snaps the deadbolt back in place; refastens the chain and then stalks across the room. Tossing the gun into the middle of the bed and tearing at the envelope; splitting it down the middle as opposed to the flap or the seams. His heart pounds mercilessly in his chest; stomach clenching and brain swimming with a thousand different thoughts. None of them good. And the frowns when he finds two smaller envelopes inside of the first. Each one marked with the words PROOF OF LIFE. One dated two days ago, one just this morning.

What the fuck…

He rips into the most recent one first. Photographs. Of McCann’s wife and kids. The kids are no longer hog tied and restrained on a filthy mattress. Sitting in crude metal chairs, hands and feet bond by what he easily identifies as rock climbing rope. Both kids are naked from the waist up, most likely so whoever views the pictures grasps the extent of what’s been done to them: bruises covering the entire rib cage, finger marks from wrist to shoulder. There’s dried blood on their face: caked under their noses and around the corners of their mouths. And the skin is raw where the duct tape over the eyes had been cruelly ripped off. 

He feels sick. Bile rising in his throat.

The wife is in far better condition. But still bears the marks of her ordeal. Her hair has been crudely chopped off; chunks missing, the edges just skimming the bottoms of her ears. Unlike the children, she’s in a wooden chair that’s in remarkable condition; polished, a clean, like new cushion. Bound only by her wrists. He frowns at that, holding her picture and one of the children side by side. It makes no sense. Why the children would be in such inhumane conditions while she…despite the hacked hair job and her own bruises…is still in pretty damn good shape. Normally the kids are treated better than the adults; it’s easier to beat on and torture adults, as they’re in far better condition and can take a hell of a lot more punishment before death finally takes over.

Photos still in hand, he wanders around to the side of the bed and grabs the SAT out of the drawer of the nightstand. Pressing three on the speed dial.

“Yeah?” Yaz simply greets. There’s no hint of sleep in his voice. 

“Did someone just come to your door?” Tyler asks.

“I was just going to call you. A girl came here. Looking for you. Said her name was…”

“Erin,” he finishes.

“Yeah. I take it she found you? I wasn’t the one who told her. I acted like I had no idea what the hell she was talking about. But she obviously knows me. She talked about Dhaka. About me flying the helicopter that got Ovi out. She kept going on and on about how ‘they’ know all about us being here. About you being the one that killed Asif.”

“Well technically that was your sister. What else did she say?”

“Just kept calling you The Australian. Says that ‘they’ know all about us. All about you, especially. About Esme. And the kids.”

“Fuck…” he mutters. “…what the hell? How’d this get out so quick? How’d they know we were here?”

“I don’t know. I have no clue. I was going to call Nik after I talked to you. Maybe we’ve got a mole on the team. Someone is feeding them information. What did this girl want with you?”

She gave me pictures. Of McCann’s wife and kids. Proof of life as of six hours ago.”

“How they look?”

“Kids are fucked up. Wife looks pretty good though. What’s her name? The wife? We have any information on her? Maiden name, anything like that?”

“First and married name. That’s it. Why? What are you thinking?”

“Something isn’t right here. Why are they being held in different spots? When was the last time we ever saw that when we had multiple marks?”

“Never. Not in the ten years that I’ve been doing this, anyway.”

“The kids have been worked over pretty good. Whoever sent these wanted us to see that. Just how fucked up they are. But the wife? Worst she has is a shitty hair cut and some bruises. The kids are being kept in some shit hole and she looks like she’s just been tied up for shits and giggles in someone’s dining room.”

“You think we’re being played?”

“Yeah. But I’m not sure by who. You find out everything you need to know about the wife. Like right now. Don’t wait.”

“I’m on it,” Yaz says, and hangs up.

Tyler drops the SAT into the middle of the bed, followed by the photographs, then reaches for the second smaller envelope. Pausing before he opens it, stealing himself against what he knows is inside. He’d known as soon he saw the first selection of photos. Hell, he’d known as soon as Erin had brought up his own family. He also knows that it’s a scare tactic, that whoever is behind their existence is hoping it will cause him to give up the search for McCann’s wife and kids in favour of returning to his own family. The chances that someone will actually hurt Esme and the kids are slim to none. That’s not what these people want. Their endgame isn’t to hurt him. Just scare him enough to send him running home.

He tears into the paper, dumping a handful of polaroids into his palm. His heart once again pounding ferociously, ever muscle and tendon in his body suddenly tense. Hands remarkably still despite the trembling travelling through the rest of his body as he flips through the pictures. Ovi and Mille going into the ice cream shop, Esme and Millie while out of their girls day, him and the boys while leaving after their getting their hair cut, the entire family out together for dinner, him and Ovi at the shooting range, Esme and him, alone on that hammock in the backyard.

Fuck…fuck…fuck…

He grabs his SAT once again, this time calling Nik. 

“Yaz just called. Talk to me.”

“They know, Nik. Whoever has McCann’s wife and kids. They know who I am and why I’m here. How the fuck do they know?”

“I have no idea. Yaz thinks there’s a mole on the team. Someone who has access to all your files.”

“Just how many people is that?”

“Half a dozen.”

“For fuck sakes, Nik! This was supposed to be kept quiet. McCann knew I was in Guatemala. He said he followed me for the entire week I was there. Now whoever has his wife and his kids know who I am and why I’m here. Explain to me how the fuck this happened?!"

“I’m working on that, Tyler. You’ll have answers as soon as I get them.”

“I have pictures, Nik. Pictures of my wife and my kids. Even pictures taken in my backyard. What the fuck is going on?!”

“They’re trying to scare you, Tyler. They’re trying to force your hand. They want you to back out and go home. Don’t give in to them.”

“You get someone to my house,” he demands. “I don’t care if you have to go there personally. You get someone there to keep an eye on my family. I’ll stay here. I’ll see this job through. But you get someone to my place, Nik. Now. Not an hour from now. Not two hours from now. Not six. Now.”

“I’m already on it. What do I tell Esme? Do I tell her about the pictures?”

“No. Just tell her that you think it’s better that way. To have some folks there. That you sent people ‘just in case’. That will be good enough for her. At least for now. Don’t even tell her that I talked to you. None of this ever happened as far as she’s concerned.”

“Do you really think McCann’s wife has something to do with this?”

“I don’t know. Everything is fucked. Right off the hop this time.”

“We should call it off. I should just bring you and Yaz home.”

“The job’s not finished. We haven’t even started it.”

“The job is fucked, Tyler. We’ve lost the element of surprise.”

“Doesn’t mean the job can’t go on. I’ve got this under control, Nik. At least on this end. You just make sure that my family stays safe. Because if anything happens to my wife or my kids…”

“They’ll be fine. I’ll personally make sure of that. Keep your head on straight, Tyler. Don’t let them win.” 

“I’ve got shit locked down over here,” he assures you. “You just make sure you do the same thing over there. Take care of my family, Nik.”

“I will,” she promises. And ends the call.


	21. Chapter 21

They meet in a coffee house two blocks from their hotel; arriving separately, hoping not to draw attention to themselves. There was no way of telling of how far word had spread. If the news that a solider for hire had travelled out into the general community or if the people responsible very keeping it on the downlow in fear of escalating tension. There was already longstanding angst between the IRA and everyday folk; their acts of brutality and domestic terrorism were decades old and while silent, still had the propensity to flair up at a moments notice.

Tyler is already on his second extra large black coffee when Yaz arrives; the younger man casually slipping into the bench across from him, iPad in one hand, his own SAT in the other.

"That shit will kill you," Yaz remarks, wrinkling his nose at how incredibly strong the brew smells; the colour as dark as fresh black ink.

"Too late. I'm already dead inside." Tyler retorts, and removes his sunglasses and places them on the tabletop, followed by his personal cellphone.

Esme had sent him videos that the kids had made for him: Tanner bragging about how many popsicles he ate in one sitting, TJ showing off his black eye and swollen nose, and Mille proud as shit that she'd been the one who had inflicted the damage. She had no shame; she wasn't sorry and refused to apologize and declared she would do it again in a heartbeat if he so as much breathed on her the wrong way. And then the baby; with his very first haircut, freshly erupted teeth, and a handful of words that seemingly cropped up over night.

The loneliness is intense. Those beautiful little faces and those cute, soft voices telling him how much they missed him. How much they loved him and couldn't wait for him to come home.

He rubs his hands over his face. He'd managed to trim the beard. Had taken the clippers to his hair. Followed by a long, cold shower that did little to calm his nerves and worry but had successfully managed to aggravate every bit of arthritis that existed in his body.

"You look like shit," Yaz comments, and then peers into his mug. "Black, huh?"

"Yeah. Like my soul."

Yaz smirks, then orders a caramel latte from the waitress that drops two menus onto the tabletop. His eyes following her as she walks away; eyebrows arched as he admires the way her hips sway from side to side and the way her skirt just seems to hug each and every curve. "You look like shit," he says, as he turns back to Tyler. "Get any sleep?"

"Not really. You?"

He shakes his head, and pushes one of the vinyl bound menus across the table. "Eat something for fuck sakes, can't have you wasting away on and perishing from starvation in the middle of a job. Nik would beat my ass. And your wife would kill me."

"You realize I could break you in half with my bare hands, yeah?" Tyler smirks, as he flips open his menu.

"I do. And do you realize I've actually had nightmares where that's happened? Where I've pissed you off and you've just gone medieval on my ass? I'm not ashamed to admit that you scare the ever loving shit out of me. I'm glad we're friends, man. I'm just saying. Because I really do not want you to kill me with a garden rake."

"That's played out. I'd use something more creative. Like a tire iron. Or a pitchfork."

"Nothing surprises me about you anymore. So after we talked, I couldn't turn my brain off. It was like it was in overdrive. Firing on all cylinders. I can't wrap my head around this. I can't figure out how they made us that quick. We didn't go through any airports, we didn't have to check through customs, there was no flight manifesto. At least not one with our real names. How?"

"They had us made before we even got off the plane. Probably before we even left Colorado. There's someone inside. A mole. There has to be. It's the only thing that makes sense."

"Maybe McCann? Maybe he is in on this. Maybe this is some big game."

"I think it's someone on the team. He even told me when we first met that he'd paid to get my information from someone and that's how he tracked me down all the way in Guatemala."

"How fucked up is that? That he actually showed up there and followed you? Like a goddamn stalker."

"How fucked up is it that that's not even the most messed up thing in all of this?" Tyler counters, and casts a glance towards his cell phone as it vibrates against the table. Taking the opportunity to check on the notification as the waitress returns with Yaz' drink, and her phone number. The latter she boldly tucks into the breast pocket of his shirt before flashing a dazzling smile before taking their orders as if nothing even happened.

"Well shit…" Yaz's eyes once more follow her backside as she heads to the kitchen with their requests. "…and she's' cute too!"

"And legal," Tyler smirks, as he types out a quick reply to his wife's text message.

"Fuck you," Yaz mutters. "That was a complete mistake. I didn't realize she was that young. You could have been my wingman. Had you not gone into the bathroom to get laid. And thanks for that, by the way. I had to piss in an alley out behind that bar."

"Take it as a badge of honour to know your godson was conceived while you were taking a leak outside and taking one for the team."

"You two conceive your kids in the most fucked up places, I swear. Is anything normal with you guys? Or did you just figure, 'hey, we started this shit out during some craziness, let's keep the trend going'?"

"Excuse me for not being vanilla like you. Which is why I have a very satisfied wife at home and why you have callouses on your palms and carpal tunnel."

"Sometimes I really hate you, you know that? Think I should call her?"

"Why wouldn't you? She's cute. She's obviously into you. She was brave enough to give you her number. Maybe she's brave at other things."

Yaz smirks. "I like the way you think. Maybe I don't hate you after all. This never happens, you know. When we go somewhere together. You're the one that is usually getting all the phone numbers. Which you don't even use, by the way."

"Why would I? I'm married. Happily."

"At least pass them on to your boy. What is wrong with me? How long have I had to struggle as your sidekick? How long have I had to witness women tripping over themselves to get your attention? You and the blue eyes and all the muscles."

Tyler grins. "I'm flattered, Yaz. I never knew you had a crush on me. If I swung that way, I'd probably give you a chance. I'd probably split you in half though. I don't think you could handle all this."

"You're a very disturbed individual, did you know that? There's something seriously wrong with you. You're not my type anyway You're too...pretty."

Tyler snorts. "I'm pretty? You have some pretty messed up definition of pretty, then. The tattoos, the scars. How's that pretty?"

"The eyes. The hair. The smile. The big arms."

"Alright, alright. I'm getting a complex here. Quit flirting with me and let's get down to business. What did you find out?"

"Quite a bit actually," he powers up the iPad and leans it against the napkin holder and condiment dispenser at the edge of the table, so they can both see it. "It wasn't that hard to find. And I'm honestly surprised none of us thought of doing it before. Looking into the wife. There's some good stuff. First…" he taps on the screen and brings up a side by side picture of Heather McCann; one from her earlier years (either high school or college, Tyler can't say for sure) and a current photo, before she'd been taken.

"She's from New Zealand. Which we already knew. Born in Christchurch. May 29th, 1979. Her mother was heavy into the activism scene; protesting shit like pollution in the oceans, nuclear arms, animal cruelty, women's rights. So on and so forth. A couple arrests under her belt. Nothing serious. Creating a public nuisance, assault on a police officer, vandalism. Nothing too scandalous. The father however, had quite the extensive criminal record."

"He's dead?"

"Killed. Ten years ago. While on vacation on the Bahamas. It was a hit. No doubt about. One to the back of his head."

Tyler sips his coffee. "Execution style."

"Exactly. Now, I couldn't figure out what the hell he could have been involved in that led to that. So I did some more digging. His name was Alphonse Buckman, and this criminal record of his, there is some pretty serious shit. Racketeering, four counts of assault with a deadly weapon, money laundry, trafficking…"

"Another Amir Asif."

"New Zealand's own. And there's more. Much more. We're talking uttering death threats, threatening a public official, conspiracy to commit murder, accessory to murder. It just goes on and fucking on."

"How was he even out on the street? With a list like that? He should have been doing at least fifty years if you add all of that up."

"Money, Tyler. Money. This isn't just some normal guy. He was the head of very prominent crime family in New Zealand."

He frowns. "Didn't McCann say that he met his wife while trying to extract someone from a crime family down there?"

"He wasn't just extracting someone from any crime family. He was extracting them from this crime family."

"Jesus fuck," Tyler runs his hands over his face, rakes a hand through his hair, holding it away from his forehead.

"It gets better. So much better. Or worse. I'm not sure which. Remember what McCann told you? About his wife being a shop keeper?"

Tyler nods.

"That's bullshit. Her grandmother was the shop keeper. Grandmother on the mother's side. Remember that part, okay? Heather wasn't just some innocent caught up in all of this. Just some random off the street. She's the daughter of an international criminal mastermind. We're talking a guy that was even wanted by Interpol and still managed to get off. Heather was the extract."

"Wait…wait…you lost me. What?"

"Heather was who McCann was hired to extract. He was hired by the father. Because the mother had taken off with Heather to get her away from him. He wasn't there to get someone away from a bad guy. He was working for the bad guy. A bad guy with extensive ties, to, you guessed it, the IRA."

"This is fucked," Tyler concludes. "This is quite possibly the most fucked up thing I've heard in a long time. That I've been mixed up in."

"It was his very first job. As a mercenary. He left the IRA to become a soldier of fortune. And they took that as a huge slight. Because of all that he knows about them. And because he's no doubt had to go after some of their members. He's a traitor to them. But…"

'Nothing good every comes after 'but', Yaz. Nothing."

"He hasn't just pissed off the IRA. He's pissed off everyone associated with the ex father in law. Because he took money from them to do jobs that he never followed through with. We're talking big money, Tyler. Like millions of dollars. Huge cash. So he's got the IRA after him and everyone that still has ties and loyalty to his father in law. They both want him."

"So there's a huge pissing content going on between the IRA and these other guys."

"Exactly. This is messed up. And I have seen some messed up shit. One word. Dhaka."

"Still doesn't explain the weird feeling I get from the wife," he gives the waitress a polite smile as she returns with their food and cutlery.

"This is where it gets really interesting," Yaz says, as he digs into his food, then shoots the waitress a thumbs up from across the coffee house. He swipes left on the tablet, bringing up school pictures of the McMann children. "This is Emma and Nicholas McMann. Michael and Heather McMann's two children. Born here in Belfast. Not that that means anything, really, but just bare with me here. So McMann came home on the 12th and found his place tossed. Completely trashed. And his wife and the kids missing and a letter, claiming to be from the IRA, saying they were responsible and that they'd be in touch. But he never called the police. He never once reported that his kids or his wife, had been taken."

"Because he knew that the cops would find out about his own illegal shit."

"Precisely. He spends a few days trying to take them down. Stirring up some real shit here in Belfast with the IRA, who in turn, turns around and says they have no idea what he's even talking about. They say it wasn't them. That they had nothing to do with it and if they wanted him dead that badly, they would just do it. They wouldn't do that to kids."

"So they say. We've seen a lot of screwed up shit involving kids, Yaz."

"I agree. Or normally I would. But I'm starting to think it isn't the IRA. They're a proud bunch. When they're involved in something, they admit it. They adamantly refuse to take any responsibility for this. Which leads us back…"

"To the father in law," Tyler concludes.

"Which in turn, leads us back to her," he brings another picture of Heather McCann on the screen. "Guess who runs the books for dear old dead daddy's people back home. Guess who is the only child of said dead mobster and the executor of his estate and his power of attorney."

Tyler sighs. "I need something stronger than coffee for this."

"She's the ring leader. Supposedly. I can't really prove that. Not yet. You know, some of this shit would be a lot easier to dig up it we had an actual experienced intel person. Someone with real hands on experience. That has done all of this before. And really awesomely, I might add."

"Forget it, Yaz. Don't even say it. There's no way I'm agreeing to that and you know it."

"Esme has tons of contacts," he reasons. "All over the world. She's dealt with this kind of thing. Organized crime. In New York City and Philadelphia. I've seen her file, Tyler. From the people in North America."

"You ran a background check on my wife? Just now or…"

"Back when Nik was going to hire her. We had to check things out. Check references. Things like that. You haven't seen her file but I have. And it's not just impressive. It is super fucking impressive. The circles that she's infiltrated, the people she's got to trust her, the mercenaries that she's helped get people out of some horrible shit. She doesn't just know things that regular people know. She knows things that could get a lot of people killed. And if we had her here…"

"Yaz, I said forget it. I am not getting her involved. We have four kids at home. That need their mother."

"They need their father too. But here you are."

"I'm not taking their mother away from them. I'm not doing it. So drop it."

"Tyler, both the IRA and this family know we're here. They know our names. Our faces. They know we came here and they are pissed. I am not going to be able to get all the information out of them that we need. Esme could come in here and get everything we need and then leave just as fast as she got here. Look what she was able to do in Dhaka. How successful that part of it was. Now tell me why this is a bad idea."

"Because she isn't just some random intel person, Yaz. She's my wife. The mother of my kids. That's why. This is insane. Even thinking about dragging her into this. Wasn't Dhaka enough? Wasn't that enough bullshit for her to go through? You want me to just bring her into this?"

"It would work. You know it would. You're just too scared to admit it. Bringing Esme in would save us a whole lot of time."

"And possibly get her killed."

"She could have been killed in Dhaka. But she wasn't. Because you were there to protect her. Just like you would be here."

"Jesus…" Tyler drags his hand down his face. "…I can't believe I am listening to this."

"But you're considering it. Aren't you."

He reluctantly nods.

"It's the best idea I have. And it's the only one that will work. And you know that. That's why you don't want to admit it. Look, I know it probably scares the shit out of you. Her getting back into this, but we need her Tyler. I know it. You know it."

"This is insane," he drops his fork on his now empty plate with a clatter and leans back in booth, hands clasped behind his head.

"What's the worst she can say? No?"

"How about 'you're fucking insane and I want a divorce'."

"That won't happen and you know it. Give it some thought. We don't have a lot of time to play with here. McCann is going to start to wonder why we're stalling, He's already getting impatient. Give it a couple hours. Think it over."

Tyler nods in agreement. "Back to the wife. Explain to me how she's involved."

"Like I said, I think she's the one running the show for dear old dead dad. All signs point to her. I can't prove it. At least not yet. I think she's exacting revenge on her husband."

"For what?"

"Apparently he's got quite the wandering eye. And a wandering dick."

"So set all this up…use her children as bait…because her husband can't keep it in his pants? Seems a little extreme, don't you think?"

"I don't think it's just that. I think she knows he had something to do with her father's death. And she's pissed because he's screwed over all kinds of other people by not doing the jobs he was hired to do. Just pocketing the money. Which in turn, puts targets on her and her kids' back."

"So she stages all of this to make it look like she's not involved but uses her kids for leverage?"

"Like you said, we've seen screwed up things involving kids. And this wouldn't be the worst. Unfortunately."

"This changes everything. You know that, yeah?"

"You need to be the one to get the kids out, Tyler. They have to be your priority. You're responsibility. They're the only innocent ones in all of this. It has to be you."

"And if I can only get one?"

"One is better than none."

He gives a derisive snort, then waves the waitress over and orders another coffee.

"Let McCann go for the wife. Let them kill each other. Who gives a shit at this point. The bad wiping out the bad. But you have to get those kids. They have to be your extracts."

He sighs heavily, then nods.

"Now call your wife," Yaz slides Tyler's cell phone towards him. "Tell her we need her help. Tell her what's going on. Let her be the one to decide if she wants to get involved or not."

"If she asks me for a divorce and I get kicked out of my house, I'm coming to sleep on your couch, mate," he's only half joking, then palms his cell phone and slips out of the booth.

"Good luck," Yaz calls after him as he heads for the exit.

*****

She answers on the third ring; sounding exhausted, yet still excited to hear from him.

"I thought you wouldn't call until much later your time," she says. "It's only eight am there. It thought for sure you'd be busy. Tracking people down, kicking some ass. All that kind of stuff."

"We've hit a bit of a roadblock," Tyler admits, as he slips his sunglasses on and leans against the red brick of the coffee house. Seeking peace and quiet from the hustle and bustle of the main street by tucking into the neighbouring alley. From here he can keep an eye on the road; observe those coming down the sidewalk from each direction, leaving different store fronts. The alley leads to a dead end, nothing but dumpsters and back exits. "And maybe I just wanted to call because I wanted to hear your voice. Maybe I miss you."

"Maybe?" she challenges, and he grins.

"I miss you," he admits. "A lot. A hell of a lot."

"I miss you too. Are you okay?"

"Fine," he assures her. "Did I wake you up? What is it? Like eleven there?"

"I'm sitting outside. On the swing. It rained for the better part of the afternoon and it so beautiful out now. There's a really nice breeze coming in off the mountains. I wish you were here. I miss this part of our night. Sitting out here together. How many times have we actually fallen asleep on this swing?"

"Too many to count," he says, a smile of reminiscence curving his lips. "The kids were good?"

"Mille finally chilled out. She was much better after I told her to record that video for you. It calmed her right down. She cried a little. At bedtime. Because you weren't there to tuck her in and read her stories. Maybe you can record yourself reading her one and send it to her. She'd love that. If you find time."

"I'll find all the time in the world for her, you know that. How's the boys?"

"Hanging in there. TJ has his ups and down. Tanner is still being the calm and consoling one. And Declan is Declan. He's such a little ham. He's so funny. He's quite the character already. But what a temper! I've never seen anyone pitch a fit like he can! And so strong! I wonder where he gets that from."

"The being strong or the having a bad temper?"

"Both," she laughs. "I'm glad you liked the videos. We had so much fun making them. And can you believe the baby has four words now? He's so smart Tyler. Crazy smart."

"Like his mom."

"And he is so close to walking already. You said he would be the one that would walk the earliest. Because of his insanely strong legs. I hope you don't miss it. I'd really want you to be here when it happens. You missed it with both Millie and the twins. I'd like you to get the chance to see it this time."

He swallows down the lump of emotion that's wedged in his throat. "I'd like to see it too. I hope I'm back in time."

"Are you sure you're okay?" she asks. "You don't sound like yourself. There's something in your voice. I don't know what it is. But it's something."

"I need your help," he just spits it out. No chill whatsoever. Just straight to the point. "Actually, we need your help. Yaz and I."

"Okay…" he can hear the squeak of the swing as she stands up. "…with?"

"We've been made. Both of us. We were made before we even got off the plane."

"Shit," she mutters. "Are you sure?"

"One hundred percent. I got a visitor in the middle of the night. From whoever is behind all of this. Telling me that I stuck my nose in business I don't belong in and that I needed to watch my back. They know my name. Where I live. They have pictures. Of all of us."

"Which is why Nik decided out of nowhere to stay here along with two of her guys. Tyler…"

"I asked her not to tell you. I didn't want to get you all worked up if it just turned out to be idle threats. They're just trying to scare me. So I'll abandon things here."

"But you're not. Abandoning things."

"I've got a job to do."

"The job is obviously fucked. Tyler, you need to come home. Right now. Get on the next plane and get home. Please."

"I can't. I need to get those kids. I don't give a shit about the wife. But I can't leave those kids. And I know you understand that. Would you want someone leaving our kids?"

"Of course not.. But…"

"Esme, we need your help. I need your help. I can't get them without you."

"Tyler, I'm not a mercenary. I wouldn't know the first thing about extracting someone. And that's not something I can just learn on the fly."

"I don't need help with that. I can do all that stuff. I need your help with intel."

"You have Yaz there," she points out.

"Yaz doesn't know the things you do. He hasn't done the things you have. I know you've been in this before. I know about New York. And Philly."

She sighs. "How?"

"Yaz told me. He saw it in your file. When Nik did background on you before she gave you the job. I don't care that you kept that from me. There's things I've done on the job that you don't know about either. This isn't about keeping secrets or protecting each other and keeping info away from one another. This is about me needing your help to rescue those kids."

"I have to admit, there is a perverse satisfaction in hearing you admit you actually need my help something," she chides, and he can't help but grin.

"Babe, I wouldn't call you about this if I had anyone else," he continues. "You're the best at this. I know it. You know it. You've helped bring down better and bigger. I won't go too much into it right now. It's better if I tell you everything in person."

"Whoa…whoa…in person? Tyler, I have four kids here. They're already without their father. Now you want me to leave them without their mother too?"

"Look, it's not what I want. I know it's not what you want. And the thought of taking you away from them kills me as much as it kills you. But I need you. McCann's kids need you."

"Tyler…" another heavy sigh.

"Esme…please…I really need you to do this."

"Who do I get to watch the kids? I can't just pull a babysitter out of my ass."

"Ask Ovi if Chloe would do it."

"She works."

"She owns her own business and has her own employees. I'm sure she can trust them to run shit while she takes time off. Or call your mom."

"Oh right," she laughs. "That will go over well."

"I'll call her then."

"That would just be even worse! What would you say? 'I need you to watch your grandkids so your daughter can come to Ireland and help me kick some ass'?"

"Something like that. Babe, this is serious. These people know who we are. We aren't going to get anything out of them."

"And you think I'll be able to?" she inquires.

"I know you'll be able to," Tyler confidently replies.

"You are something else," she mumbles, and then falls into a long, almost painful silence.

"Esme?"

"I'm here. I'm cursing you out, but I'm here. Are your ears ringing? Because they should be. Jesus, Tyler. You honestly can not be serious about this."

"I am. Dead serious. You're the best at this type of thing. And we need the best. Especially with the kind of people we're going against."

"Which you'll tell me all about when I get there," she concludes. "I need a few hours. At least. I would need to call my mom and have Ovi get a hold of Chloe. This isn't going to be an instant thing. I have to book a flight and…"

"Ask Nik. She'll arrange one for you. She's got great connections."

"Fine," she huffs. "I've got to and get shit together. I'll call you. As soon as everything is ironed out and I know when I'll be there. This is insane, Tyler. You're insane."

"Maybe. But you love me."

"Only one days that end in Y. I'll call you. Soon."

"I love you," he tells her. "And thank you."

"You're welcome. And I love you too. I'll see you in a little while."

"I'll see you when I see you," he says.

"Yes," he can hear the smile in her voice. "You will."


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: SMUT. NSFW.

Her flight arrives at eleven thirty in the evening, Belfast time. Tyler waits at the edge of the tarmac as the jet coasts to a stop; baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, clad in a pair of jeans, combat boots, and a simple white t-shirt under the flack jacket. Leaning against the driver's side door of a newly rented SUV, hands stuffed in his pockets, biding his time as the pilot begins the final steps before passengers can begin to deboard. A slight rain falls: the pavement slick beneath the soles of his boot as he makes his way towards the jet; the stairs finally being lowered and the door being tossed open by a steward.

He smiles when he sees her, giving a small wave in greeting as he approaches. There's a lap top bag over her right shoulder, a large -and jammed packed- knapsack over the left, and she wears a simple pair of leggings, a beat-up pair of sneakers and one of his hoodies. The sweater impossibly big on her; falling well below the knees, sleeves rolled up several times. But it's the hair that he notices. The unexpected change in colour. Gone is her normal chestnut tresses, replaced by a rich mahogany that shines purple under the lights that surrounded the tarmac and small hanger. In all the time that they've been together, her appearance has seldom changed; aside from weight put on during her pregnancies and the several inches chopped from her hair. And while stunned by her transformation; he finds he actually likes it.

It's intriguing. Alluring. Sexy.

"Hey," he greets from the bottom of the stairs, holding out his hand to assist her the rest of the way.

"Hey," she cheerfully returns, her feet on the third step when she curls her arms around his neck; his own wrapping around her willowy body, effortlessly lifting her off her feet, chuckling when her legs encircle his waist.

He's smiling when she pulls away just long enough to remove his ball cap, turning it backwards before placing it back onto his head.

"That's better," she declares, and kisses him. Long and slow. That sweet, welcoming kiss that comes with a reunion. It doesn't matter how long they've been apart, days, weeks, months. That first kiss is always the best one.

"I missed you." Tyler says, as he presses his lips to her temple and tightens his hold on her. Eyes closing as he breathes in the familiar yet still intoxicating scent of her body spray. All the tension, stress, and worry soothed by the warmth that radiates from her body. It's only been two days, yet it's felt like a lifetime.

She holds his face in her hands, kissing him once more. "I missed you too."

His palms briefly glide over her ass as he places her on the ground, then turns his hat back around the proper way and accepts a second backpack from the steward.

"How was the flight?" he asks, as he unloads of the other two bags as well, slinging all three over his shoulders, then placing a protective arm around her as he escorts her to the waiting SUV.

Nik has gone to a lot of trouble. The first rental vehicles being exchanged for replacements under different names. A new hotel on the outskirts of the city. Even new SAT phones: fears that the others have been compromised and calls and texts being recorded or traced. All new numbers, their actual physical whereabouts being kept secret. Nik being the only one with knowledge of where they actually are.

"Long," she replies, her arm across his lower back, hand just inside the back pocket of his jeans. "But travelling on a Gulf Stream made it so much easier to cope with. I love Yaz and he's a great pilot, but he doesn't have one of those," she jerks a thumb over her shoulder towards the sleek, modern aircraft. "How does Nik know this guy?"

"She said she did some work for him. That he owes her. Maybe they're actually hooking up. He gives her the jet in exchange for good p…"

Esme frowns. "Isn't he an old man?"

"So? Maybe he's a sugar daddy. You know, Nik. She doesn't want to settle down. Or commit to anything. An arrangement like that would be perfect for her. He lends her his toys; she gets to be his toy."

She snorts.

"How were the kids when you left?"

"Fine. They dealt with a lot better than I thought they would. I think they like the idea that we're together. Maybe they think that means I'll keep you out of trouble. It makes it easier to have Ovi there with him. They adore him. And Chloe. Not to mention they are over the moon that grandma came to visit for a while."

"I'm surprised. That she was even willing to do it."

"Well, with Sarge out of the house, she's lonely. Maybe she's trying to turn over a new leaf. I notice she's been better with you. Since you went over there to see her. Whatever you said must have struck a nerve."

"We had a good talk. Cleared the air," he loads her things into the backseat of the SUV, then pauses before he opens her door. Reaching out to run a hand over her hair, letting smooth, silky strands slip through his fingers. "What's up with this?"

"You hate it. Don't you. Nik wanted to just go with a wig, but you could tell it was fake. So I thought, why not? It's only hair."

"Actually, I like it. Never thought I'd see you as a redhead. It's different. But sexy."

"It just gets better…" she reaches into one of the pockets on the hoodie and pulls out a pair of dark framed eyeglasses; fake lenses, but real enough looking to pull off whatever ruse Nik has cooked up. "What do you think?" she slips them into her face. "Are they me?"

"You look like a sexy librarian."

"You have a fetish with librarians? We've been married for five years and I'm just finding this out now? Was there a sexy librarian in your past you lusted over?"

"Math teacher, actually. We can pretend you're a math teacher if you want."

"Math doesn't scream sexy to me. Neither does librarian. I was thinking more…I don't know…" she lowers the glasses onto the bridge of her nose and peers at him over the top of the rims. "…private tutor…"

"Yeah…" he grins, and lays his hands on her hips, using his weight to back her up against the car. "…I don't think there's anything you could teach me that I don't already know. You can try if you want, though. I'll take one for the team."

"Such a hard life you have," she dramatically sighs. "How do you ever cope with being so selfless? What a burden to have to carry. Maybe I can actually be a sexy therapist and you can lie down and confess all your troubles to me. I bet there's ways I can make you feel better."

He smirks. "I bet there are," his hands slide over her hips and around to the small of her back, mouth covering hers in a deep passionate kiss just as his fingers press roughly into her ass and pull her tight against him.

A sensual, lustful moment, hidden from the outside world by the looming shadow cast by the aircraft hanger. Her lips taste like strawberries, the hint of the same when the tip of his tongue briefly brushes against hers. It's more than want; it's the relief of having her that close again, the lift of the stress and the worry that had been plaguing him since asking for her help, the gratitude that she'd even agreed.

There is so much to lose. The risk far greater than the reward. And he's desperate to keep her close; to feel her lips against his, their bodies pressed together, all of his senses filled with her scent, her taste, the sound of her soft sigh when he leans into her and pins her against the car.

"Mmm…" there's a smile on her lips as she pulls away, eyes closed as he presses his forehead against hers. "…that was…nice…"

"I missed you," he says, as he lays a hand on her cheek, thumb softly brushing over the orbital bone before drifting across and down the entire length of her jaw.

"I can tell," she grins, and brushes a palm against the obvious beginning of his erection.

"Not just that. Although that's pretty fucking amazing. It always has been. But I missed you. I missed us. I just got back home. I thought we'd have more time than we did. And I'm sorry for that. For all of this."

She turns her face into the hand resting against her cheek, pressing a kiss to his palm. "It is what it is, Tyler. This is your life."

"No. It's not. You're my life."

There's a sadness to her smile. But also peaceful resignation. "I long ago realized that I was number two. And I'm not saying that to hurt you. I'm saying that I accept it. I accept who are you. I accept what you are. I wouldn't be here if I didn't. I never would have called you that night when we were separated. I would have just cut you loose. But I couldn't. I've never been able to. I should have walked away. That first night in Dhaka. But I didn't."

"I wouldn't have let you. I would have chased you down. I would have followed you wherever you went. I would have found you."

"And maybe people will say that's your weakness. Me. And maybe they'll say it's an obsession. An addiction. That we can't ever walk away. That it's unhealthy. I even think it sometimes. The way we fight. The way we're ready to rip each other apart in the worst possible way and then in the best possible way in the blink of an eye. But I love you. More than you could ever realize. And I wouldn't be here if I didn't."

Part of him says that the words she's just spoken should break his heart. That he's failed in some way, putting the job before her and not concentrating enough on their marriage or their family. Yet the other part of him is relieved. The things she'd said bringing about his own sense of peace. Completeness, even. For years he'd wondered just where he stood, in the shaky balance between mercenary and family man. He's struggled to keep them separated. And her words have reassured him that he can be both. She accepts it. Her love and loyalty her own blessing and curse.

He takes her face in both his hands, pressing a kiss to her mouth and then to her forehead. Lips lingering there, eyes closed, feeling her hands come up to cover his.

"I'm glad you're here," he says. "Thank you."

One of her hands moves to the back of his neck, then slides up into his hair. Nails scraping against his scalp where the shorn areas are, pressing into the skin before her fingers move up to comb through the longer strands. "There's nothing I wouldn't do for you," she says.

And means it.

****

It's quarter past midnight when they reach the hotel; she'd dozed in the car, lulled to sleep by the soft pattering of the rain against the windows, the rhythmic sound of the windshield wipers, and the safety and security that being reunited with him has given her. And when he kills the ignition in the underground parking garage, he reaches over to smooth her hair away from her face, looping pieces behind her ears and the leaning in to softly kiss her awake. Grinning at the content, dreamy smile that slowly spreads across her face.

"We're here," he says.

"Okay," she yawns, and the wraps both arms around his neck and pulls him into her; her mouth devouring his as one hand rips off the ballcap and tosses it aside.

Her tongue aggressively pushes its way into his mouth, his palms cradling her face as he kisses her back with equal…if not more… fervor. It's been like this for five years; an insatiable hunger, an almost overwhelming sexual attraction. Lust often overpowering love. A honeymoon stage that has far outlasted what either of them had ever expected. By now most couples have fallen into a routine; the stress of raising a family and the often mundane rituals of domesticity putting a damper on the sexual aspects of things. But they'd found it's only been heightened. As if the bond they share as spouses, confidants, and best friends is only strengthened because they make such great lovers.

"You're trouble," Tyler grins, and has to peel her arms away from his neck. "You were trouble five years ago and you're trouble now."

"The best kind of trouble," she declares, and he can't help but agree.

The underground lot is dimly lit; damp, smelling like mould, gasoline and exhaust fumes. There's many hidden spots and dark areas where an unknown threat can linger, and as he carries his bags on his shoulders, he keeps a protective hand on the small of her back, a small amount of pressure keeping her walking half a step in front of him. His eyes constantly searching; scanning those dark shadowy places where someone could hide, glancing at vehicles to see if any passengers suspiciously remain inside, checking over his shoulder to make sure that they aren't being followed.

It was a risk going to the airport to pick her up. Even with a new rental under a fake name. If anyone was watching the hotel and had seen him leave, it would have been easy for them to follow him and then spot them together. Ruining any chance of using Esme as their 'inside person'. And putting an even bigger target on her back. But there is also no guarantee that she hasn't already been made the same way he and Yaz had been; word getting back to those responsible before she even stepped foot on the plane in Colorado. Which in turn made her travelling to the hotel alone just as dangerous, if not even more.

She breathes a visible sigh of relief when the reach the elevators. "That was a little freaky," she says, and nervously bounces up and down on her heels as he hits the up button. Five years ago, she'd been confidant. Fearless, even. But so much as changed since then. Good and bad.

"Everything's fine," he assures her, and lays a hand on the back of her neck, lightly massaging the tense muscles. "Just breathe. We're almost there."

He practically pushes her into the elevator when it arrives, dropping the bags on the ground and hitting the button for their floor. His own sigh of relief about to escape when he hears the door leading to the garage open, followed by three boisterous voices. Two males and a female.

"Fuck me," he mutters, and then uses his foot to move the bags to the very back of the lift. A hand wrapping around Esme's upper arm and pulling her tight against him just as the newcomers manage to slip through the doors before they close.

The scent of alcohol practically oozes from their pores, their voices loud and obnoxious, the female's shrill laugh piercing, especially in such small confines. But the three strangers all give a polite nod in greet, then turn to face the front of the elevator. Tyler's hand moves from her upper arm to her side, drawing her even closer. And he feels the way she relaxes against him. Comforted by his smell and the warmth he provides and the pure solid mass of his body. He looks down at her, giving her a reassuring smile, and drops a kiss on the top of her head.

Esme's eyes are riveted on the numbers that light up above the door, but she can't help but smirk when the female grabs a hold of one of the males and kissing him passionately, causing him to stumble backwards and collide with the side wall.

"Newlyweds," the friends says to them, and rolls his eyes. "You guys too?" he nods down at the wedding band that Tyler sports.

"Yeah," he answers. "We're here on our honeymoon too." The lie rolls easily off the tongue. Years ago, it became second nature; either telling small snippets of the truth or none of it at all. Whatever takes away any hint of suspicion.

"Australian, huh?" the young man observes. "I hear you guys have killer beaches and surfing."

Tyler nods.

"I'd love to go there sometime," he says, and then turns back around to face the door.

Esme's watching the young couple against the wall, amused by the drunken make out session. But then suddenly her body tenses once again, a frown on her face as she steps in front of Tyler, placing her hands on his sides. At first he wonders if she's playing up the whole being on the honeymoon lie, her nose against his chest, her hands sliding along his rib cage, then up onto his lats and back down again. Until her hand stops on the Glock holstered to his right hip.

He drops his head, nuzzling her ear with his nose before pressing a kiss to her ear. "What's going on?" he whispers.

She lifts her head, their lips mere millimeters apart. "He's carrying. Left hip. Looks like a Sig Sauer. It has a magazine in it."

He just nods, then places a hand on the back of her head and kisses her. More of a comforting action than a lustful one. Feeling the way her hands tightly grip the front of his jacket. And he keeps her there, tucked securely into his chest with one hand on the small of her back and the other resting on the Glock.

The floors seem to pass by at a snail's pace; he can feel her heart hammering against him. "Just calm down," he whispers, lips against her temple. "Everything's fine."

The three strangers are staying a floor below them, and when the elevator finally grounds to a halt and the doors open, Tyler can feel her entire body relax. And he gives a polite nod when the younger man and the couple wish them a good night and an even better honeymoon.

"What the fuck was that?" Esme breathes a sigh of relief when the doors close.

"Nothing. They're just drunk and obnoxious. You need to bring it down a notch. Why are you so on edge?"

"Oh I don't know, Tyler. Maybe because I just left the safety and security of my own home to help you go up against the IRA. I'm sorry if that's a little…upsetting."

"None of this is going to work if you freak out about every little thing," he says. "You need to just relax and breathe."

"He had a gun."

"I have a gun."

"You have a reason to."

"And maybe he did too. Maybe he's a cop. Maybe he's private security. Maybe he just has a permit to conceal carry. Just try and relax, love. Just a bit. I know it's been a long time since you've done this sort of thing, but I'm not a rookie. Nothing is going to happen to you. Did anything happen to you five years ago? In Dhaka?"

"Well not for the first five days, no."

He frowns.

"I didn't mean that the way it sounded. Things going to shit after that was definitely not your fault."

"Did I not keep you alive? The first five days and the two after it?"

She nods.

"Then calm the fuck down," he implores. "You're safe. I got you."

She smiles, then stands on her tip toes and presses a kiss to the underside of his chin. "So, newlyweds, huh? Five years is a long ass newlywed stage."

"Sometimes it feels like five days," he admits. "And other times it feels like fifty. Years."

"You are such a dick," she laughs, and his hands slide down to grab a hold of her ass. "Maybe we can be newlyweds again. You know, just for tonight?"

"Just tonight?"

"I don't know how much you have left in you," she teases. "One night might be all I get out of you. You're getting older and your stamina might be starting to go."

He grins. "Is that a challenge?'

She cocks her head to the side. "Maybe…"

"Well in that case," his fingers bite into her ass. "Consider that a challenge accepted."

****

She doesn't even flinch when the back of her collides with the solid wood of the hotel room door; their mouths locked in a savage, merciless kiss as unrepentant hands yank and tear at clothing. His much larger and stronger body pinning her in place; his fingers hooking in in the waistband of her leggings and yanking them down over her ass and her hips, allowing them to pool at her ankles.

"Really?" he smirks, when he discovers missing undergarments. "You had to make things that easy for me?"

"I knew it would be late when we got back," her hands push the jacket off of his shoulders, falling to his wrists before he tosses it aside. "I figured you'd be all out of patience. I thought I'd cut you some slack."

"You know I like to work for it," he says, and then his mouth is on her neck, her head falling back as his warm, moist lips sucks harshly at her pale skin, marking her as his. Teeth grazing against the hallow of her throat, his beard scratching her tender flesh. Large hands pulling off the hoodie and flinging it aside, palms drifting up the back of the t-shirt. Nimble, experienced fingers finding her nipples, lightly pinching and twist as his mouth once more makes it way back up to hers. Pulling her bottom lip between his teeth, biting down with enough force to cause her to give a sharp yelp, his tongue pushing its way into her mouth.

Her hands yank his t-shirt up his torso, intentionally dragging her nails along his skin, leaving bright red tracks in their wake. Her touch needy and aggressive as she explores his wide shoulders and beautifully muscled back, their kiss only breaking when he pulls back long enough to remove his shirt and add it to the pile of clothes. Desire pools between her legs just at the way he looks at her; a hand on the side of her face as his eyes lock on hers. Intense. Hungry. Burrowing to her very soul. And she reaches for his belt buckle, only for him to grab her by the wrists.

"No," he says, and forces her arms down to her sides.

She opens her mouth to protest, but he's dropping to his knees in front of her, his eyes locked on her as his palms push her thighs apart, fingers digging into the soft flesh, a cry escaping her mouth when he places his tongue flat against her pussy, licking a wide strip all the way from the juncture between her legs to the top of her pubic bone. Two fingers pushing the swollen, moist lips open and his mouth zeroing in on her clit. Pulling it between his lips, grazing it with his teeth, her hands burying themselves in his hair.

"Jesus….Tyler…shit…fuck…" it's all she can manage; mesmerized and even more turned on as she watches him eat her out. Fingers twisting at the longer strands of hair, pushing his face further into her. Head falling back and her hips moving on their own accord; grinding against his tongue with every lick, suck, and nibble that he unleashes on her. A litany of profanities, encouragement, and his name tumbling from her mouth.

One hand grabs a hold of her left leg, fingers pressing deep as he places it over his shoulder. The new position making it possible for his tongue to delve even further inside of her. Thrusting it in and out, mimicking the movement of a cock, before turning his attention back to his clit and slipping three fingers inside of her. No lead up; just those three long digits being forced as far as they can possibly go. Before one hooks forward and finds that spot that she always thought was a myth. And he presses, hard, as he takes her clit into her mouth at the same time.

She comes undone. Throwing her head back against the door. Screaming his name. Those hands painfully yanking at his hair. And he continues his ministrations throughout the entire orgasm, moving those fingers at a slow and steady pace, the tip of his tongue now circling her clit. And the sensation is just too much; tears spilling down her face as attempts to push him away. It's all too much. Too soon.

He backs off; his fingers slipping out of her, pressing soft kisses to her fluttering stomach as his palms run up the backs of the calves and thighs. Travelling all the way to her hips. Feathery kisses being placed along her pubic bone before moving higher. Making a slow, agonizing journey all the way from her navel to her mouth. Thumbs tenderly brushing away her tears as he kisses her, letting her taste herself on his lips and his tongue.

She reaches for his belt and this time he allows it; eyes on her hands as she unbuckles it and then pops open the button and yanks down the zipper. A low growl forming in his throat as she slides her hand down the front of his boxers and those soft fingers close around his cock. His eyes closed and his forehead resting against hers as her hand works him; slow and lazy at first, then more aggressive. Until his own hips are bucking into her and he struggles to draw breath into his lungs.

"Enough," he orders, and pushes her hands away once again. "I don't want to come like that."

"Well how do you want to do it?" she asks, and something in her voice just sets him off. Igniting that primal, animalistic need inside of him. Arms circling her waist and lifting her off her feet; mouth once more on hers as he uses his strength to hold her against the door. One hand planted firmly on the cool, smooth wood as the other reaches between them to guide his weeping, aching cock inside of her.

"Tyler…" it's a long, drawn out sigh, her eyes closing at the sensation of that initial penetration. And when he pulls all the way out and pushes back inside with more force, her legs wrap around his waist and her fingernails dig into his shoulders.

He takes her hard and fast. Face buried in the crook of her neck; eyes closed. His palm still flat against the door, the other hand slipping between them so his fingers can find her clit. Applying just enough pressure to cause her to cry out, then using two fingers to rub smooth, quick circles. Until her entire body is shuddering against him and she's biting down on his shoulder with enough power to break the skin, her scream muffled by thick muscle. He chases his own orgasm, moving the hand from between them and roughly grasping her hip; hard enough to bruises as his thrust become erratic and sloppy. His face still buried in her neck, breathing ragged, a string of profanities and her name leaving his lips as he empties himself inside of her. Legs trembling and weak. Praying they'll hold him up.

She pulls his head up by the hair and kisses him. Her legs tightening around his waist. The heels of her feet digging into the small of his back as she holds him tightly inside of her. Until his own shuddering subsides and their breathing begins to return to normal. And she giggles into his mouth as he effortlessly carries her across the room and drops her into the middle of the bed. Her legs still wrapped around him; his cock still buried inside of her.

****

It's two thirty in the morning and they eat the junk food that she'd packed in her oversized purse. A box of strawberry frosted poptarts, mini Kit Kat bars, and cheese strings that she'd stolen from the kids' stash in the pantry. Lying side by side on their stomachs with their heads at the foot of the bed and their feet on the pillows, Tyler is just his boxers, Esme in his t-shirt. The tv tuned in to a 24/7 news channel, but the volume on mute.

"Déjà vu," she says, as she tears open the foil on a package of Pop Tarts.

He arches a quizzical eyebrow.

"We ate Pop Tarts in Dhaka too," she explains, as she hands him one of the pastries. "The first night we…"

He grins. "I remember."

"The room's a lot nicer this time around," she muses.

"The toilet actually flushes," he says, and she laughs.

"What about the shower?" she inquires. "Can you actually stand under it?"

"I can," he confirms with a chuckle. "And there's even hot water."

"Holy shit, we're just living the rich life. Do we even get complimentary bar soap and fuzzy towels?"

"And bathrobes."

"Do we really have to go home after this? I don't even have a bathrobe at home. At least I get one here."

"I'll steal one. Just for you."

"Tyler Rake…" she gasps dramatically. "…you committing a devious offence? Never."

He smirks.

"Did you call home?"

Tyler nods.

"The kids haven't given grandma a mental breakdown yet?"

"Not yet. But she's only been there twelve hours, so…"

"I give it three days. Before she's hitting the bottle hard and weeping as she rocks in a corner."

"Three days is generous. I had it at a day and a half."

"That's longer than it took you to lose your mind while trying to teach the boys how to pee standing up. And you're supposed to be the patient one. See what I mean? About boys being the hard ones?"

"Bullshit. Millie is a hundred times harder than the two of them put together. Her attitude is enough to drive me to drink. And she's only five."

"I wonder where she gets that from. Her propensity for being an asshole."

Tyler stares at her pointedly.

"Oh, excuse you! I don't think so. You are a much bigger asshole than I am."

"How you figure?"

"You have a resting asshole face. All the time. And you're sarcastic and a total wise ass. Not to mention, you look intimidating. You're all big muscles and huge shoulders and massive hands and feet. Not to mention you're absurdly tall. What did your mother feed you when you were young?"

"It was all the vegemite," he reasons. "And I am not intimidating."

"Right!" she scoffs. "That's why the pizza guy nearly wets himself if you answer the door."

"He nearly wets himself because I told him I was going to tear him a new asshole for calling you hot. Not that you aren't. You're insanely hot. But when the twenty-year-old pizza delivery guy is going around town talking about how hot you are and calling you a MILF…"

"It's actually quite flattering. That the yearlings think that about me. You should be flattered. You have a wife that the guys half your age want to bang."

"It's not flattering. It's fucking disturbing."

"So are the women at the grocery store that get all wet whenever they see you. But you don't see me complaining about it. I just sit back and laugh at them and be like 'stare all you want, bitch. He's all mine'. You should find it flattering though…" she rolls over onto her back, hands on her stomach. "…I've given you four kids and I still have a fairly decent body."

"Fairly decent? You have a fucking amazing body."

"Aww baby…" she tousles his hair. "…you're so biased."

"Maybe. But it doesn't make it less true. And no, I do not find it flattering that the pizza boy wants to get in your pants. That's like Ovi wanting to get in your pants."

"That's even worse. He's practically my kid. Speaking of getting into someone's pants…"

"Would you let me fuel up for fuck sakes? I can't run on an empty tank."

"I wasn't talking about you! I think Ovi and Chloe have sealed the deal."

"Yeah? What makes you think that?"

"I said I would do some laundry for him and I found an empty condom wrapped in a pair of his jeans."

Tyler grins. "Atta boy."

"I'm not ready for this. I can't handle him growing up. Where'd the old Ovi go? The one who wet his pants because you scared him so badly?"

"It wasn't me that made him wet his pants. He'd already pissed himself before I got to him. What was I supposed to do? Let him walk around like that? It was traumatizing enough. I didn't want him completely embarrassing himself."

"And people say you're nothing but a savage hard ass. You're a big man with an even bigger heart."

He snorts.

"Right…right…don't talk about the feels. Tyler doesn't like to talk about the feels. It emasculates him. Why do you have to be such an alpha male?"

"Because I am. Because that's what made you fall in love with me."

"No…no…" she disagrees. "I'm pretty sure it was the eyes and the voice. The muscles played a part too. A big part."

"Stop objectifying me," he chides. "I have feelings. I'm not just some piece of meat."

"Oh yes. Yes you are. Sorry to say. But the best part is the fact that you're not just any piece of meat. You're my piece of meat. You're my trophy husband."

"That doesn't work. I'd have to be younger than you. I'm five years older. So technically, you're my trophy wife."

"What contest in hell did you win to get that kind of trophy?"

"Whatever it was, it must have been very, very bad," he teases, as he uses the remote to flick of the tv and tosses it onto the dresser. "Because…" he settles on his side beside her, a hand resting on her stomach. "…I am definitely being punished."

"You're such a dick sometimes, I swear."

He presses a kiss to her temple. "You like my dick."

Esme grins. "Okay, I'll give you that one."

He moves further down the bed, wrapping both arms around her lower back and then resting his head against her stomach. Letting loose a small yet content sigh when she commences playing with his hair. This is a side of him that no one else got to see. When he is tender and sweet. Needy. He'd long ago found that level of comfort with her. Able to let his guard down completely and just be…human.

"Tired?" she asks, pushing his hair off his forehead, fingertips brushing against his brow. Tips pressing into the top of his nose, gently massaging.

He nods, yawning against her stomach and closing his eyes as her fingers trace the scar across the bridge of his nose and then one that runs vertically down the left side of his forehead.

"Maybe you'll be able to sleep now. Now that I'm here. I promise I won't wake you up three times a night. No matter how horny I am. I'll take pity on you."

"You don't have to go overboard now. You can wake me up as many times as you want. Just give me like half an hour. Then I'll be good to go."

"I give it ten minutes and you'll be out like a light. Snoring like crazy."

"I don't snore."

"Sure you don't." She lays her palm against his forehead, just letting the weight and the warmth of her hand soothe him. "Tyler?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

Smiling against her stomach, he tightens his hold on her. "I love you too."

He's asleep in minutes.


	23. Chapter 23

Brilliant sunshine streams through the windows, tearing her from a peaceful and much needed sleep. Despite the years of living like a nomad while travelling from job to job, the past five of being a wife and mother content in her own home have spoiled her; it had been extremely difficult falling asleep in a strange bed. Even with the that warm and solid body beside her, the familiarity of his smell, the smoothness of his skin, the sound of his breathing. The mattress was foreign, feeling strange and uncomfortable underneath her, despite the obviously high quality. She missed the way the one at home moved and dipped underneath her; those little grooves long ago made by their bodies, the pop and the squeak of the springs, the clean and refreshing scent that lingered on the fabric. The room had seemed eerily quiet, even with Tyler’s soft snoring and the way he mumbles in his sleep. She is used to the sounds that come with living in an old house tucked away from the rest of civilization; the owls that hooted, the bats that screeched and called to each other, the settling of old pipes, the dog’s tag clinking against his collar as he switches positions at the foot of the bed.  
And most of all, the sounds of children; the little voices waking her up in the middle of the night as they climbed into bed between her and Tyler, the baby fussing in the room across the hall, the crying and the complaining when they’ve had nightmares or aren’t feeling well. For five years that’s been her life; tending to the needs of others. Her ‘mommy senses’ far keener than those she’d ever developed on the job. The ability to snap awake at the even the creaking of a loose floorboard or a car speeding by more than a thousand miles away. Perhaps it was the job that had caused her mother instincts to be so sharp; she’d already been used to being on high alert.

Eyes still closed; she blindly reaches for him; fingers coming in contact with cool, empty sheets instead of warm, hard body. Frowning, she pushes herself up onto one elbow, using her other hand to push her hair away from her face and clear sleep from her eyes. The sliding glass door is open several inches; a crisp, refreshing breeze tumbling into the room, the rain from the night before leaving behind cooler temperatures. And she reaches across the bed for the night table on her side of the bed, pulling her cell phone from the charging cord and checking the time.

8:47.

She pushes herself up into a sit; still groggy from a lack of sleep, shoulders and back aching from trying to get used to an unfamiliar mattress. And she leans over the side of the bed and reaches for the t-shirt that had been discarded in the early hours of the morning. When the sun had just been peeking over the horizon and Tyler had stirred beside her, wrapping his arms around her and pressing his front against her back, that impressive morning erection pressing against her backside. It was one thing about being away from the kids; you could make as much noise as you wanted, take your time, no worries of interruptions or having to make sure you’re at least partially clothed before falling asleep so you weren’t caught naked and unaware by the little humans that would come bounding into the room the moment they woke. 

“Tyler?” she calls into the room, as she shrugs into the t-shirt. Listening for any signs of his whereabouts. Out on the balcony drinking coffee and getting fresh air. Or even getting in a ‘do it yourself, no equipment’ workout. She listens for the shower or any other movement coming from the bathroom; the door slightly open, the sunlight tumbling through the window above the tub and its rays cast across the bedroom floor. “Tyler?” she tries one more time, voice louder, then with a groan climbs off the bed.

“Men,” she huffs, she heads for the bathroom. They lay out the ‘don’t go anywhere on your own’ rules but never want to follow them themselves. It is typical of him; protective and almost possessive. To a fault.

She’s just returned to the bedroom area and rummages through her bags for something to wear when she hears it; harsh whispers coming from the hall. She can see the movement of two distinct sets of feet through the gap between the bottom of the door and the floor, the slight shadows that are cast on the wall as figures move in front of the seam. Her hands freeze on the zipper of the backpack and she strains her ears to listen. One very obvious Irish accent, male. The second voice belongs to a woman; husky in nature, a subtle yet noticeable New York twang that Esme is able to pinpoint as Brooklyn. She’d spent eighteen months in the Big Apple; hopping back and forth between Brooklyn and the Bronx. Successful infiltrations of well known and very powerful families. Old money. Organized crime connections. The mature faces on the drug and weapons smuggling scenes.  
She waits for them to knock; watching those shuffling footsteps from underneath the door, unable to make out any of the conversation. The actual words are muddled, their tones too quiet, too rushed. And ever so quietly she opens the zipper on the backpack and snags a pair of yoga shorts, still pulling them on as she makes her way towards the door. Resting a palm against the smooth cool wood, the fingers of her other hand curling around the metal door handle. She feels no anxiety. No panic. Just a quiet, composed calm as she listens to the soft rustling of clothes and the shuffle of footsteps and the whispered conversations. There are many things to take into consideration; someone mistakenly be giving this room number instead of their actual own, thinking perhaps maybe this was where a friend or family member had bedded down but weren’t one hundred percent sure. Hotel workers, maybe. Cleaning or maintenance staff. Porters. Room service clerks. 

The conversation now moves away from the door; the voices becoming quieter, footsteps muffled against carpet as they head away from the room. And she counts to thirty before finally opening the door. Cautiously glancing to left and then the right; nothing but unmanned cleanings carts at either end and room service trays full of dirty dishes and cutlery in front of some of the doors. To the right comes the soft rumble of the elevator motor, and as the door opens with a chime, she’s just able to see two figures step out of a doorway across from the lift and hurriedly make their way towards it. Neither of them glancing in her direction as she scurries in her bare feet towards them. 

“Shit!” she snarls, slapping her palm on the elevator door when it closes, cutting off any contact between herself and the occupants. And she’s suddenly aware that a maid is watching her curiously from several feet away as she hovers over her cart of cleaning supplies. “Did you see who got on the elevator?” she inquires, her tone far more tense than she intends it to be.

“No, miss. I just got out here from cleaning a suite. Why…?”

“Who is staying that room?” she nods towards the door she’d seen the strangers step out from. 

“No one. It’s empty.”

“How long has it been empty for?”

“A couple of days now.”

Esme frowns. “Are you sure? Are you a hundred percent sure?”

“Yes, miss. I cleaned it myself. When the guests left.”

“Are you sure you’re not mixing it up with another room? Because I just saw two people come out of there. A man and a woman. They were outside my door. That’s five rooms away from here. I heard them talking. Are you certain there is no one staying in there?”

The frazzled housekeeper nods.

“And you didn’t see anyone got on the elevator? Not even a peek at them?”

“Like I said, I was just in a room cleaning. You can call down to the front desk if you like and inquire about that room, but they’re only going to tell you the same thing I am. There hasn’t been anyone in there for a couple of days now. I’d know. I’m the one that has to tidy up after people.”

Esme gives a polite, albeit curt, thank you and moves towards the room in question. Facing the door, taking as many steps forward as she can until her bare toes touch the wood. There wasn’t enough room for one person to hide in that small of an alcove, never mind two. She tries the handle on a whim, finding the door tightly secure. Then presses her ear to the door and listens for any sign of life.

Nothing.

It’s disheartening. Even maddening. She knows what she heard. What she saw. Yet there’s absolutely no proof that any of it actually happened. There are no faces to connect with the voices. No bodies to place with the footsteps. There’s nothing but two strangers getting on an elevator. And the questions they’d left behind. 

She turns to head back to the room, realizing that in her haste to catch whoever had been in the hallway, that she’d inadvertently locked herself out. The key card tucked securely inside of her wallet. Back in the nightstand on her side of the bed. And she’s muttering to herself about when she steps out of the shallow alcove, nearly jumping clear out of her skin when she nearly collides with Tyler’s broad, solid torso.

“Jesus Christ!” she cries, having to fight back to urge to either knee him in the groin or punch him in the throat. A natural instinct when startled by God knows what. Or who knows what. “What the hell is wrong with you? You scared the shit out of me!”

“What are you doing? You’re not supposed to leave the room alone.”

“So that gives you the right to sneak up on me and nearly make my pee myself? Fuck, Tyler. You could have at least said something, so I didn’t nearly kick you in the nuts. You didn’t have to creep up on me like that.”

He isn’t amused. His brow furrowed and his nostrils flaring as he curls his fingers around her upper arm and pulls her out of the doorway and practically shoves her down the hall; grip on her tightening as he propels her towards their room. 

“I don’t have my card,” she reluctantly admits, and he heaves a frustrated sigh and nods down in the direction of the left-hand pocket on his flack jacket. His own hands already occupied, one with the painfully tight hold on her arm, the other with a carry out tray of beverages and a bag of food. “I didn’t think it would lock behind me,” she attempts to reason, as she plucks the card from the jacket and slips it into the slot on the door. 

Letting of her arm, he pushes the door open, holding it for her. “Just go,” he orders, voice low and menacing. 

She pauses on the threshold, a hand on her hip as she glares up at him. “We are NOT fighting about this.”

He smirks, eyeing her up and down with that utter condemnation that uses for those that especially piss him off. Then nods in the direction of the interior of the room. “Go.”

She arches her eyebrows, as if silently challenging him, but his deep inhale and slow, measured exhale tells her that this is not the time to be testing the limits of either his patience or his temper. Instead she holds her hands up in surrender and stomps past him. Taking a seat on the edge of the bed as she watched his every move; the way he lets the door slam shut and does up both the deadbolt and the chain, that condescending smirk that tugs at the corner of his mouth as he walks past her, that calm yet utterly unnerving way he unpacks the carry tray and the bag and places the contents on a table near the window. She’s had five years of this, whether it be the silent treatment or abrupt one or two word answers, or outright blow outs. Yet he’s still hard to read sometimes. A master at hiding his true feelings. That expression steadfast. 

“You aren’t supposed to leave the room on your own,” his voice is calm. Too calm. Like the eerie stillness right before a storm.

“I only stepped out for a couple of minutes.” It sounds lame, even to her own ears.

“We talked about this. I told you not to anywhere by yourself. You said you wouldn’t.”

“It was only a couple minutes,” she repeats.

“Do you know how much can happen in two minutes?”

“Don’t talk to me like that, Tyler. I’m not one of your kids.”

“You listen just as well as they do. Actually, I think they listen better than you do.”

She frowns. “What’s next? I can’t go to the bathroom without you holding my hand?”

That smirk again. “I thought you said you didn’t want to fight about this? Because it sounds like you’re trying to start a fight.”

“I can’t leave the room, yet you can leave the hotel by yourself?” she challenges, and he gives a derisive snort.

“I can handle myself. If something goes wrong, I can take care of it.”

“I’m not a child. Don’t talk to me like one. I am more than capable of taking care of myself.”

“You mean like you were able to take care of Jason by yourself?” he counters.

“That was five years ago and under totally different circumstances.”

“You stole my gun, stole my car, snuck out of the house and flew to Dhaka. While you were pregnant. You’re right. Totally different circumstances. In fact, they’re even worse than these circumstances. I told you not to go anywhere by yourself. I asked you to listen to me and stay in the room. At all times. Unless I’m with you, you don’t go anywhere. And you said okay. You were fine with that. So what the fuck is the issue? I’m gone for half an hour and you totally go against everything I told you?”

“I was fifty feet away.”

“I don’t give a shit!” he bellows, and she blinks at the vehemence in his voice. “I don’t care if it’s five feet away! I don’t care if it’s the next fucking room! You don’t leave by yourself! You did this shit back in Dhaka and you’re doing it now. I told you back then not to leave my side and you did and you’re still doing this shit now. Why do you have such a hard time listening to what I say?”

“I’m a human being, Tyler. Not a thing. Not some object you own. So…”

“You’re my wife!” he snaps.

“Yes. I am. But that doesn’t make me your possession. You don’t have ownership over me.”

“That is not what this is about. This isn’t about me wanting to own you or having possession of you or whatever weird shit you have in your head. This is about keeping you safe! This is about making sure that at least one of us gets home to our kids! I’d rather it be me that something happens to you than you. I asked you…I told you…not to go anywhere on your own. Not because I think I own you. But because you’re the mother of my children and I love you and I don’t want anything to happen to you!”

“Well I don’t want anything happening to you either and you’re out that by yourself.”

“That is not the same thing and you know it.”

“Because you’re the big bad mercenary who can kill people with his bare hands and I’m just some vulnerable little girl that needs you to protect her at all costs.”

“Esme…” he sighs heavily. “…just stop…why are you even arguing with me about this? You know you fucked up. Just fucking own it. I told you not to go anywhere alone and you did. You can try turning it around all you want. You can try and make me look like the bad guy. Which you’ve been doing for five years every time we get into a fight. I’m always the one that’s wrong. The one that’s controlling or possessive or treats you like a little kid.”

“Well you do. Treat me like that.”

It takes all he has not to storm across the room, grab her and shake the shit out of her. Instead he takes his voice down a notch, able to rein in his temper, standing in front of her, his hands on her shoulders. “I am trying to protect you. Do you know what can happen in a couple minutes? How wrong things can go in just a few feet, never mind forty or fifty? Or a hundred? What if someone had have been out there just waiting for you? What if you’ve already been made and someone is just waiting for you to fuck up? What then?”

“I wasn’t thinking about all of that,” she admits. “I…”

“All the rooms you had to walk past to get where you were. What if someone had have just been waiting in one of those doors? Just waiting for you to walk by? You would have ended up just like McCann’s wife and kids. And then what? Then what the fuck would I do? Then I would have to say fuck them and extract my own goddamn wife. Did you even stop to think about that? What the hell would happen to you? What someone would put you through? Especially if it’s someone after me? Do you know the shit they would do to you?”

“I didn’t think of that stuff. I just…”

“They’d torture you. They’d beat you. They’d rape you. And they’d do all kinds of other sick, twisted shit to you. I have seen what these kinds of people do. I’ve seen it firsthand. So don’t ever question why I am the way I am with you. Why I want to protect you like I do. Because I’ve seen the sick shit they do to women. And I’d never forgive myself if it happened to you,” he pushes hair behind her ears, cradles her face in the palms of his hands, then leans down to kiss softly. “Now are we done? Can we stop fighting now?”

“Well it was pretty one sided because you were the one doing the yelling, but…”

“Stop,” he implores, and pecks her lips. “I was just worried. I didn’t mean to freak out. But this is serious shit and I don’t want anything happening to you. Are we still friends?”

“It depends.”

“Yeah?” he grins, and runs a fingertip down the bridge of her nose. “On what?”

“What you brought me for breakfast.”

****

They sit on the balcony to enjoy their feast; bowls of fruit salad, bagels with cream cheese, cups of fresh, piping hot coffee and tea. It’s a beautiful morning; fresh, cool air replacing the stifling humidity that had blanketed the city just the day before, a brilliant blue sky with enormous, stark white low hanging clouds, a steady stream of cars and pedestrians on the streets below. A busy metropolitan area, but a far cry from the dusty crowded streets of Dhaka. 

Aside from that short trip to Cuba together -when the twins had been conceived in a bar bathroom- the last time they’d holed up together in a hotel had been five years ago in Dhaka. That run-down flea bag establishment with its rodent and insect problem and its stained walls and foul smell that clung to every inch. Yet despite the state of the place, that was where everything had begun. Where two lonely and broken people had discovered that their tattered and weather halves could be put together to make a slightly tarnished and dented whole.

“Have you ever heard of the Buckman family? Tyler suddenly asks, as they sit side by side in plastic lawn chairs, his legs stretched out in front of him, sunglasses on his face, coffee in one hand, her hand clasped tightly in the other. “From New Zealand?”

She’s silent for a moment, her bare feet perched upon the top railing of the balcony. “We’re talking organized crime here, aren’t we.”

He nods.

“I know of them. I’ve never had anything to do with them personally because I only dealt with things in North America. But yeah, I’ve heard of them. Why? How do you even know that name?”

“McMann’s wife is related to them. Her father was the head of it, I guess.”

“Alphonse Buckman? I used to hear all kinds of stories about him from colleagues that had run ins with him and his people. All kinds of crazy shit. We’re talking things like attempted murder, conspiracy to commit murder, forcible confinement. And that is just the tip of the iceberg. I wouldn’t even have believed half of it had I not actually seen the guy’s rap sheet for myself. Even the people I got close to were afraid of him. Who would have thought of a crime family in New Zealand of all places? His daughter? Really? How did you find all this out?”

“Yaz ran a background check on her. Remember those videos I showed you? Of the wife and the kids?”

She nods. “I remember you thinking it was strange because the kids were in some dumpy place and she looked like she was somewhere just as nice as our hotel room.”

“I have to show you something,” he gives her hand a squeeze and then stands up, grimacing at the pain in his knees, the small of his back aching and stiff as he heads bare foot into the room. Returning a minute later with the file folder in hand. “Someone came to the hotel I was at before. Middle of the night. Gave me these.”

She takes the item offered to her, then pushes her sunglasses up onto the top of her head and opens the folder. “Proof of life pictures?”

“Apparently,” he grabs his chair and places it in front of her, so they’re face to face. “Tell me what’s weird about them.”

“Well at first blush, the kids are obviously the target of whoever has them. They’re the ones that are the main focus of revenge or rage or whatever you want to call it. Whoever is doing this are sick fucks,” she fights to control her emotions; her thoughts immediately going to her own children thousands of miles away. And Tyler reaches out lays a comforting hand on her knee, squeezing gently in an attempt to keep her calm and focused. “They’ve definitely been getting the worst of things. And wherever they are, it’s run down. Brick walls, exposed pipes and electrical. Almost…industrial…like a warehouse or a basement.”

“What about the wife?”

She moves the photos of the children to the bottom of the pile. “The place is clean. Tidy. A couple of stains on the walls and chunks out of the plaster but nothing gross.”

“What else?” he presses.

“She has a few bruises but nothing major. It looks she’s sitting on a wooden chair. Only her ankles are restrained which is weird as hell. I haven’t physically gone into an extraction and seen one for myself, but it doesn’t seem too productive to only restrain someone by the feet. And the kids are in metal chairs. She’s in a wooden one. Looks antique almost. Or a good knock off. Looks like she tried to give herself a hair cut and failed miserably. Like someone tried to hard to make it look like her hair was hacked off. Even Millie did a better job when she tried to cut her own bangs when she was three.”

“And? What does that tell you?”

She holds a photo of the children and one of the mother side by side, chewing pensively on her bottom lip as she studies. “Tyler…this…” she holds up the picture of Heather Buckman. “…is fake. Not the photo itself. That’s very much real. But the situation surrounding it. It’s not real. It’s totally a hoax.”

“You’re sure?”

“This and this…” she holds the photos side by side, facing him. “…do not go together. What the kids are going through…what’s being done to them…that is very real. But Heather Buckman is lying. She is not being held. She’s acting. There is no way that someone…no matter how sick in the head…would do all that to children but barely make a mark on an adult. Adults they can inflict more damage on. Which they want. They want to be able to prolong it.”

“God, I love you,” he declares, and leans over to kiss her. 

“I mean, I’m no criminologist but I’ve seen enough in my own time on the job to know when something isn’t on the up and up. And this is as fake as it comes. But why? Why would she do this? To her own kids? I can’t even begin to wrap my head around that. I would die for my kids. In a heartbeat. I can’t imagine doing something like this. I can’t…” the emotion becomes to difficult to control and she stuffs the photos back into the folder and hands it to them. “…I don’t want to see these ever again.”

He nods in understanding, then presses a tender kiss to her forehead before tucking the folder underneath his chair. 

“So is McMann involved in this too?” she asks. “Are they both in on this? Is this some screwed up way of getting back at you for something?”

“I don’t think this has anything to do with me at all. This isn’t someone looking for revenge. I have zero ties to these people. Or the IRA or the Buckman family. This has nothing to do with me. I’m just the guy that McMann wants help from. I don’t think he’s involved. I think he’s being straight with me. That his wife and his kids were taken, and he needs help getting them back. He has no clue his wife is even involved.”

“Have you mentioned any of this to him?”

“Only people that know anything about this are Nik, Yaz, me, and now you. I’m supposed to have a meeting with McMann tomorrow morning to see where everything stands. I’ve got nothing to give him. I can’t get any information out of anyone about the wife and kids.”

“Because you’ve been made.”

He nods. “That’s where you come in.”

“It still doesn’t make any sense. Why? Why would the wife do this?”

“McMann told me that they met when he was going an extraction in New Zealand. That his wife was a shop keeper that would feed him information.”

“Okay…”

“It was a lie. Her grandmother was the shop keeper. Her mother…Heather McMann’s mother…kidnapped her to get her away from the old man. Because of how dangerous he was. She was seventeen when it happened. McMann was thirty-three.”

“That alone is fucked up but go on.”

“He didn’t meet her on the job. She was the job. She was his extract.”

“Wait…. wait…” she pinches the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. “…what?”

“He was working for her old man. To get her back. Only once he got her, he never returned her. He took the money but never brought her back.”

“So he fell in love and hooked up with the person he was supposed to be extracting?”

“Exactly.”

“Jesus,” she shakes her head in disbelief. “I never thought I’d say this, but that makes what happened between us on the job sound totally normal. But why is she doing this to her husband? If he saved her back then…”

“It was a hit. On her old man. Either McMann did it himself or he had some IRA buddies do it.”

“But why?”

“He was taking jobs for the old man and some of his friends, pocketing the money, and never actually getting any of the work done.”

“So he’s pissed off a lot of people. First the IRA for defecting, then the Buckman family and whoever is caught up with them.”

“Yaz thinks the wife found out. That her husband killed her father. And that he’s been cheating on her.”

“Kind of overkill for adultery don’t you think? To stage your own kids’ kidnapping to lure your husband into a trap to kill him? Why not just make things easier on yourself on and just cut his dick off? That’s what I’d do.”

“Wait…what?”

“I’d totally cut your dick off if you ever cheated on me. I wouldn’t even think twice.”

“Not that I ever would cheat, but seriously?”

“You cheat on me and you’re going dickless for the rest of your life, buddy. That’s just the way it is. None of this is making any sense. Or maybe it is and my brain is mush. Maybe my mommy brain is worse than I thought. So what you’re saying is that McMann took for an extraction and instead of actually extracting the girl, he fell in love with her and married. I’ll leave out the part that she was a kid at the time, because…ewwww…”

“You’re right. It does make what happened between us seem sane,” Tyler concludes.

“…he takes the money for that but never gives her back to her father. He starts taking jobs and the money for those jobs but never actually does anything. Pissing off a lot of people, including her old man, in the process. He puts a hit out on his father in law…or does it himself…the wife eventually finds out and mixed in with the knowledge he is screwing around, she goes off the deep end and seeks revenge.”

Tyler frowns. “I feel like I need to write this down. Should I be writing this down? I’m starting to confuse myself.”

“She goes totally Mommy Dearest and uses the kids in the most horrific way possible in order to lure her husband in and kill him?”

“Yeah…that’s pretty much it.”

“Tyler…this is messed up…way beyond anything I’ve ever heard of. Please tell me this is the weirdest shit you’ve ever dealt with.”

“I’ve seen and heard some weird things, but not this level of weird.”

“I feel like I’m eating at the buffet of strange,” she sighs. “So why is the IRA involved in all of this?”

“They’re not. That’s what whoever is doing this wants us to think. They didn’t claim responsibility and they say they had nothing to do with it. Whoever is doing this, wanted us to think that so we’d stir up a whole lot of shit with the IRA and take the heat off of them.”

“You realize what could have happened? Had you just gone in on McMann’s word and tried taking out the IRA? Jesus Christ, Tyler. You would have started a whole bunch of shit for no reason. And you would have not survived that mess. And how did you get those pictures? Someone showed up at the hotel?”

“Some girl. Showed up at my door at in the middle of the night. Claiming she worked for the IRA.”

“And you don’t think she did?”

He shakes his head. “She works for the wife. I’m sure of it. She said that ‘they’ know who I am. They know my name, the things I’ve done, why I’m here. She said they know everything about me. Including about my wife and my kids.”

Esme’s eyes widen. “That’s why you had Nik come to the house with those guards. Because of a threat?”

“I don’t think it’s a legit threat. It’s probably just to scare me off. Get me off their scent. They think I’ll head home and forget all about what’s going on over here.”

“Maybe you should. Maybe we should go home.”

“We can’t. I need your help. I can’t find those kids without you. I don’t care about the wife. I don’t care about McCann. They can kill each other for all I give a shit. It’s about those kids.”

“You’re going to extract them, aren’t you.”

He nods. “I need your help. I can’t find them without you. I need you to find out where they are.”

“And you honestly think I can do that? That I can find my way to these people and make them talk?”

“I don’t think you can. I know you can.”

She gives a small smile and reaches out to push his hair from his eyes. “You have a lot of faith in me.”

“If anyone can get the information, it’s you. I need you to do this, Esme. I need you to help me find those kids.”

“Okay,” she says with a nod, and then leans forward to kiss him, a hand on the side of his face. “Where do we start?”


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: mentions of depression, PTSD, sad Tyler (if that's a warning lol)

The meeting is scheduled for one pm. Held in one of the hotel's smaller conference rooms; Nik hosting from Colorado through a secure satellite feed arranged by the FBI. At Esme's insistence, she'd ought out Mark's help, who in turn, had agreed to lend his assistance as long as it was kept strictly 'off the books'. Neither Tyler or Yaz made aware; a need to know situation that Nik was certain they didn't need to know. Not at this particular time, anyway. She'd also managed to convince the hotel management that the team -she'd spun a story about them providing private security for some of Ireland's elite- needed a meeting room for 'strategic purposes', and a hefty money transfer had been sent to them to ensure both their cooperation and their silence.

Yaz arrives last; arms and hands loaded down with bags of food and drink for lunch, along with his laptop and iPad.

“You went back to that coffee shop, didn't you,” Tyler grins, recognizing the logo emblazoned on the front of one of the paper bags. “Was she there? Did you see her? Did you talk to her?”

Esme sits alongside of him, their thighs touching under the table. The need for closeness...both physically and emotional...is overwhelming. On both their parts. As if something or someone was just waiting in the shadows to snatch them away from one another. Both are nervous. Anxious. All of the missing information, the complexities of the case, the uneasiness that comes with being in an unfamiliar place and not knowing exactly who your enemy is. All mixing together to create a brutal and punishing force. All jobs come with their share of danger. With the unexpected twists and turns that jumped out at you without a moments notice. Always having to think three steps ahead of you; always wanting to ahead of your foes so you could take them by surprised, not vice versa. But this was different. The trouble had started before they ever set foot on Ireland soil. Danger could be lurking around every corner; in every dark alleyway or doorway. 

She is feeling it more than the others. It's been almost six years since she'd last been on a job. She had thought that that part of her life was behind her. More than content to give up the almost nomadic lifestyle in favour or a quieter existence. Quite enjoying the routine and the familiarity that comes with being a stay at home mother and a housewife. It sounds old fashioned; the solace found in taking care of a house, in cooking dinners and doing laundry and other various chores, in keeping a husband happy and satisfied, in spending time with her children and loving on them as much as humanely possible. But after years of never forming true bonds with anyone and never having a stable place to live while running from her demons, being a spouse and a parent turned out to be exactly what she'd needed. She'd needed normal. Or at least their version of normal.

At the mention of a girl, she glances away from her laptop, fingers hovering over the keys; in the midst of sending an instant message to Ovi. Both he and Chloe were in constant contact. Always letting her know what is going on at home. Whether it be sharing stories about what the kids were up to, asking questions about things like favourite foods and things that would provide comfort when the little ones were emotional over the realization that both their mom and dad are gone, letting her know that things felt safe and secure and there had been no suspicious activity or threats. At least not yet.

“She was,” the grin that spreads across Yaz' face is enormous as he arranges the food and beverages in the middle of the table, then busies himself with setting up the tech needed to hold the meeting. They're running on Nik time, and her time -in her eyes- is extremely valuable and she expects others to recognize and abide by it. “Her name is Anna,” he says. “Anna O'Brian.”

“Oh how adorably Irish,” Esme quips. “Is she legal? Did you ask to see her driver's licence this time?”

Tyler gives an amused smirk.

“You've getting just as bad as he is,” Yaz complains, nodding in the other man's direction. “He's rubbing off on you.”

“She likes when I rub one off on her,” Tyler says, and then winces when his wife grabs a hold of what little excess fat he has above his hip and pinches as hard as she can.

“What?” he asks innocently. And when she huffs in disgusts and turns her attention back to the laptop, he playfully nudges her in the ribs with his elbow.

“You're disgusting,” she replies. “I can't believe you even said that.”

Yet at the same time, she can recognize the remarkable transformation -one of many- that he's gone through over the past five and a half years. He's no longer on guard twenty four seven; he's able to relax and actually live in the moment. No longer constantly haunted by the horrible decisions of the past. Comfortable enough in his own skin...his new skin...to not only let others in, but to be like everyone else. Sarcastic, humorous, finally content in his own skin. Yet when it's time for the seriousness of a situation to kick in, he will be back to all business.

He'll be the old Tyler again. A transformation so quick and subtle that is as if the new one never even existed.

“I read it's supposed to be good for the skin,” he reasons. “It's probably why you look as young as you do. Like a natural moisturizer.”

“You're got serious issues,” she huffs, and then yelps when he grabs a hold of the back of her knee, squeezing lightly and the proceeding to tickle her mercilessly. “Stop it!” she orders in between the laughing and the hiccups that soon make an appearance. “What is wrong with you? Tyler! For fuck sakes! You're going to make me pee myself!”

“You too make me sick,” Yaz declares, when Tyler finally relents; smiling and winking at her, running a hand over her hair and then pressing a kiss to her temple. “It's gross. The way you two are. All happy and in love and shit. It's been almost six years. Shouldn't you hate each other by now? Is this when things go south and you just stay together for the kids?”

“Oh there's days,” Esme says. “Where he is walking a very thin line. Believe me. He's too scared of me to push things too far.”

Tyler nods in agreement. She holds all the power. It doesn't matter that he's a foot taller or ninety pounds heavier. He knows when to just shut up and tow the line. “Then she gets over it when I hate fuck her,” he grins. “She's relatively harmless after that.”

She sighs in exasperation. “So who's this girl, Yaz?” she asks, as she returns to composing her message to Ovi. “Waitress? Bartender? Stripper?”

“Speaking of strippers,” Yaz grins. “Tyler...remember that red head in Russia. The one that kept rubbing her massive...” he gestures to his own chest, mimicking breasts. “...in your face.”

“Oh my god I do not need to hear this!” Esme makes a dramatic gagging noise and places her hands over her ears. “I want to remain oblivious to what he was up to before I met him. Those days didn't exist! I want to pretend they never happened!”

“She had a massive girl boner for your man. She did these things for free. She probably would have given him money for letting her.”

“Yaz...” her eyes are narrow as she glares at him. “...I will punch you in the throat, I swear to God.”

“You remind me of her,” he continues. “With the new hair. Only your boobs are real.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Tyler frowns, and smacks the younger man upside the head as he gets up to grab food. “Don't talk about my wife's body like that. Don't cross that line, mate. Don't make things weird.”

“My knight in shining armour,” Esme grins.

“Slightly tarnished and dented armour,” Yaz suggests to her “You like that one? Give me that one. Are you impressed by me?”

“I'll both accept it and allow it,” she nods. “I'm going to write that one down so when I get down to writing my book entitled 'Shit Yaz Says', I can include it. So who is she? This girl? Don't leave me out of the loop.”

“A waitress. At a place we went to the other day. She gave me her phone number and I wanted to go in and apologize for not calling her yet. I even brought her flowers.”

“Nicely done,” Tyler nods his approval. “You've been taking notes.”

“We're going for drinks tonight,” Yaz excitedly bounces up and down on his heels, like a little kid that just found out the Tooth Fairy now gives out twenties for a molar.

“Drinks?” Esme arches an eyebrow. “So that's what kids call it these days. Just call it what Tyler does. Studying.”

“For the record, I did not start that shit,” he places two plates of food on the table and slides one towards her. It's weird in a way; how you get to know someone so well that you know exactly what they'll eat, and be appreciative of even the small gesture of getting it for them. “I did not call it studying. Ovi said he and Chloe were studying. I just took it from there.”

“Tyler is a huge fan of studying,” she continues, briefly pressing her shoulder into his when he sits down, giving him a smile of appreciation. “He likes to study alone.”

“That is not what I said. I said if I have to study alone, I will. Not that I enjoy it. Just that it needs to be done sometimes. What are you supposed to do when your study partner gets a lot of headaches or doesn't feel well?”

“Excuse you, but when was the last time you heard any of those excuses from me? Months. Declan was still a tiny little thing.”

“You two are both fucked,” Yaz declares, and then adjusts the blinds covering the window; so there isn't too much sun streaming into the room and preventing them from seeing the smart board that Nik will appear on. “T minus six minutes. You guys ready for this shit? It's going to get weird, isn't it. Even more weird than it already is.”

“I have been eating at the buffet of strange all day,” Esme declares, then fills him on everything that has taken place since she'd opened up her eyes first thing in the morning. The strangers outside the hotel room; the nervous shuffling of feet and harsh whispers. How'd she attempted to glimpse a glimpse of them but had been just a few seconds too late. About the housekeeper insisting that no one was staying in the room that Esme had seen...with her own two eyes...the couple emerge from.

“Hmmm...” Yaz says in response to that piece of information, then looks at Tyler from across the table. Pointed stares. Tyler's eyebrows shooting up. So much communicated between them without even needing to use words.

She launches into what she knows about the Buckman family; no hands on knowledge, but history with colleagues that had gone toe to toe with them and had somehow managed to survive.

“They're not a family you want to fuck with,” she says, as she sips from a bottle of water. “This is Amir Asif on steroids. I'm not even joking. If you thought Dhaka went to shit, this has the chance to be a hundred times worse. If this blows up in our faces, it's going to be damn near impossible to get those kids out. Not when it's just one person doing the heavy lifting.”

“You think we need more help?” Yaz asks, and when she shrugs, he addresses Tyler. “You think you need more help? You're the one actually going in. How are you feeling about the chances? Or being able to get both of them? Two kids plus yourself? Do you think you can get all three of you out?”

“I'm fine with it,” Tyler replies. “I'll be okay. I can handle it.”

“Realistically what's the chances?” Yaz inquires. “That you can successfully get two kids out at once and go up against anyone coming at you? It isn't going to be as easy as just walking in there and grabbing them and taking off. There's going to be resistance. Big time. You think you can handle two kids plus all the other shit being thrown at you?”

“I think you need to let me worry about all of that and let me do my job. How many extractions have I done? Tons. Yet you think I'm some kind of rookie just walking in there blind? I know what I'm doing. I can handle getting two kids out.”

“And yourself?” Esme speaks up, not looking away from her laptop.

“We're not talking about that right now. This is about the kids.”

“Your life is just as important,” she gently argues. “Whether you think it is or not.”

“The job is a success if the kids get out,” he counters. “It doesn't matter if I do or not.”

“It matters to me. And to your kids.”

“Maybe we need an extra set of hands,” Yaz suggests. “Someone watching your back.”

“I don't need someone going in with me. What I need is people leaving me alone to do my job. I work better alone. I'll get the kids out. No matter what it takes. That's all that matters. Getting to them and getting the fuck out of there. I've done this before, remember? Have either of you gone in and done the bloody stuff?”

“That's not the point,” Esme says. “How many extractions have you done where you've had two people to get out?”

“None,” he admits.

“Exactly,” she huffs. “What harm does having back up do?”

“It's messy enough with just one person. I don't need someone all up in my ass questioning everything I do. I work alone. I've always worked alone. So just let me go in and do what I have to do. I'll have it under control. You need to trust me.”

“Two kids, two people,” Yaz reasons. “Would make it a hell of a lot easier.”

“Neither of you are listening to what I'm saying. I run this part of things. I call the shots. Not you. And not you,” he gives Esme's thigh a squeeze under the table. “You have to just back off and let me do what I do. You want things to run smooth? Or as smooth as they can? Then keep other people out of the way. That's all I ask. Please...” he presses a kiss to her temple. “...trust me. Just trust me.”

“Fine,” she relents. “But I don't like this. I don't like any of this. Two kids plus yourself? While trying to out run and out gun whoever is going to try and stop you? There's no Saju busting his ass to clear a path. There's no Nik and the team providing tactical support. There's no G to act as a sniper like he did in Dhaka.”

“You were a sniper,” Yaz points out. “In the corps.”

“I was not a sniper. I merely acted as one from time to time.”

“But you still did it,” Tyler says. “When you had to.”

“Oh hell no. You two are not putting this on me. I came here to help with intel. That's it. That is as far as I'm going. You two are not dragging me down into some fucked up rabbit hole because one of you is too stubborn to ask for outside help and the other just puts his tail between his legs and agrees to whatever the first one says. No. I'm not doing this. I won't do it.”

“You've got the experience,” Yaz continues. “And I trust you. Tyler trusts you. You can handle it. And we don't have to drag more people into this. Your intel stuff will be done by then, right? So why not stick around and help out? Better than bringing in outsiders, don't you think?”

“And you agree with this?” Esme address her husband. “You think this is a good idea? Getting me even more involved in this than I already am?”

“I trust you,” he says. “If there's anyone I want having my back...”

“This is fucked!” she cries. “You're both insane. What in the actual hell is wrong with the two of you? Where did all the common sense go? Both of you used to have tons of it and now it's just gone. It's disappeared. How does any of this make sense? How do I go from being the intel person to suddenly being tactical back up? Explain to me where this all went wrong.”

“You don't have to actually go in,” Tyler explains. “Just be there. Like G was in Dhaka when I went to see Ovi's captors.”

“Just be there in case you're needed,” Yaz adds. “You know this is going to go to shit. They're going to have a lot of fire power. And Tyler can't get those two kids and himself out of there and be one hundred percent effective when engaging. It's impossible. Not with two little kids tagging along. Just hang out. Find a nice high perch somewhere. Wait and see if you're needed.”

“This is crazy,” she runs her hands over her face. “This is just all so crazy. What are the chances of any of us actually surviving this?”

“Did you make it out of Dhaka?” Tyler inquires. “Did I not find a way to keep you alive? To get you across the bridge?”

“That's not the same thing and you know it.”

“I'll get you out of this too, ” he says. “I promise.”

*****

“Talk to me,” Nik says in trademark fashion. “Who has information?”

“Esme knows the Buckmans. ” Yaz speaks up, and his sister arches a quizzical -yet extremely interested- eyebrow.

“I don't know them. I know of them. There's a huge difference.”

“What do you know?” Nik asks.

“Only what I've heard through the grapevine. In the circles that I travelled in. Word gets around. Especially about families like that. The old man was killed ten years ago. Everyone suspected it was a hit, but no one every really knew for sure. It was all hearsay. Water cooler chatter. And I saw his file. His rap sheet was enormous. There were charges on there that should have had him rotting away in jail. Yet he always found a way out of and around things.”

“Are they dangerous?”

“They were back then. When the old guy was running things. I've been out of this for five years, Nik. I'm not exactly up on all the gossip. They were powerful. Probably the most powerful crime family out there. But they were quiet about it. Always flying under the radar. But people knew about them and people feared them and that was enough. They had access to all kinds of shit. Money can buy you a lot of toys. Extremely dangerous and scary ones. So if the daughter really is running the show...”

“She has the same kind of resources and money available to her,” Nik concludes. 

“And the pictures,” Esme taps her fingernails on one hand against the tabletop as she speaks, using the other hand to bring up the photos of Heather Buckman on the laptop. “The ones someone gave to Tyler. The ones with the kids are very real. There's no doubt about that. You can't fake that kind of terror in someone's eyes. Especially kids. But the wife? Those are not real, Nik. It gets more and more obvious every time I look at them. First of all, it makes no sense to keep mother and kids in two different spots. That's two separate places you have to constantly man and monitor. Second, she's only been given a minor working over. Nothing like the kids. The hair was a nice touch, but it was too much. Too much effort into trying to make something look real.”

“Any way of figuring out where she or the kids are being held?”

“Based just on those pictures? No. There's thousands of places that could look just what it's in the photos. Without actually narrowing down locations, it's impossible. What's the chances of going into McMann's house?”

“I can get you into anywhere you feel the need to be,” Nik confidently declares. “What are you thinking?”

“I'm not even sure to be honest. But maybe there's something there that can give us some sort of clue. It's a long shot. But...”

“I'll arrange it and contact you. In the meantime, I have a couple places for you to check out. I want you go in and ask some questions. Tell them that you're a journalist from over the pond that received an anonymous tip that there's trouble brewing between the IRA and a New Zealand crime family. That should be enough to loosen some lips. Charm them. Get them to warm up to you. Flirt with them if you have to. Pull out all the stops. I don't care how far you have to go to get information. Just get it. I'm sending the the first address to your SAT. It's a bar in downtown Belfast. Owned by an active IRA member.”

“She's not going alone.” Tyler speaks up. “No way. Not into something like that.”

“You tag along but you stay outside,” Nik says. “I don't want you in there. They'll recognize you when they see you and we can't have the two of you being connected in any way. Stay across the street. Or somewhere they won't spot you. But no more than a hundred yards away. Make sure you're armed. Just in case.”

“She should be armed too,” he suggests.

“They'll make her for sure. We can't take that chance. She goes in alone and does what she needs to do. You stay outside and keep an eye on things. You only go in if things go to shit and you have no other choice. Understand me?”

He nods.

“I have someone coming to meet you. He'll be there between six and nine pm, your time. He's from Dublin. He's reliable. He's bringing you some more ammo and some weapons. He's on the up and up. You can trust him. Have you talked to McMann? Does he know that you're onto him?”

“I'm meeting with him tomorrow morning,” Tyler says. “He wants to talk. See where we are at with things. To be honest, I want to fucking strangle him.”

“Well try not to. I know you're pissed. And I understand it. But you should let him know. That you know everything he told you about his New Zealand extraction was a lie. Maybe if you lose it on him it will get him to talk. He knows more than he's letting on. Maybe seeing you pissed will scare some sense into him. Tell him everything. About the pictures. About the threats against your family. Lean on him and lean on him hard. As hard you can without physically hurting him.”

“I vote that Tyler at least gets to throw one punch,” Yaz pipes up. “To the throat. Nice and hard.”

Esme nods in agreement.

“Yaz,” his sister addresses him now. “I've got someone meeting up with you with some new technology. High tech. Ways that we can all communicate without it being noticeable. Ear wigs, bugs, things like that. Inconspicuous. The old radios won't cut it. Too noticeable. I'm sending you his information and you can reach out to him and arrange something.”

“Where are we at on this Erin girl?” Tyler inquires. “The one that showed up at my room.”

“I've done all the digging I can do,” Nik replies. “There is no Erin Ferguson in Belfast that matches her description. I don't know if Esme would have more luck.”

“I can try,” she offers. “But there's only so much I can do. Without facial recognition software and other high tech shit like that, my hands are pretty well tied. I can see if there's any security footage of her entering or leaving the hotel and maybe I'll get lucky with image search on google. But that's a big 'if', Nik.”

“See what you can. I'm not expecting miracles.”

“How's things there?” Tyler asks. 

“There's been no sign of anything even remotely suspicious. No threats. Nothing. But I'm going to stay here and keep the detail I have. Ovi and Chloe are handling things. The kids are happy. Calm. Well, as calm as they can be. You know what your kids are like. Calm doesn't exactly describe them well. But they're fine. They miss you guys. I didn't realize how much they look and act just like you, Tyler. It's kind of unnerving. Scary even. You have some seriously strong genes.”

Esme nods in agreement, and he gives her a wink and a smile and takes her hand under the table.

“We've come up with a plan,” Yaz informs his sister. “When it comes to tactical support. For when it comes time for Tyler to get the kids out. It's going to be hard. Juggling two kids and fighting back. Because you just know the shit is going to hit the fan and they're going to come at him and they're going to come at him hard. With everything they've got.”

“What kind of plan?” Nik asks.

“Esme can do it. She has the experience. She can just find a place to watch and wait from. If things don't go wrong, then that's all she'll have to do. Watch. If things do blow up...”

“And they will,” Esme speaks up. “Because if Dhaka went as bad as it did, this is going to go a hundred times worse. And that's not being fatalistic. That's being realistic. These people? They're capable of bad shit. Horribly bad shit. They make Amir Asif seem tame in comparison. Dhaka was a shit show. This is going be Dhaka on a massive dose of steroids.”

“But will you do it?” Nik asks. “Can you do it? Because I think we all understand if you can't.”

Esme sighs, pushes her hair behind her ears. “I can do it,” she confidently. “I don't want to do it. But I will. Only because it's Tyler.”

****

They make love. The drapes drawn across the window; rays of sunlight poking through the small gaps in the fabric. His hands on her hips as she straddles him; guiding every slow, deliberate movement. Sex has always been what they do. A coping mechanism. The most pure yet raw way of experiencing the deepest and most primal form of intimacy. Driven out of need and desperation; fuelled by worry and stress and the fear that each time may be the last. So many unknowns lying ahead of them. The future suddenly terrifying unstable.

When she comes undone -nails scrapping painfully down his chest, his name exploding from her lips- he gives her little time to recuperate. One strong arm wrapping around her waist and throwing her down onto her stomach, legs flat against the bed, a knee pushing her tights apart before settling himself between them. Pausing long enough to run the tip of his tongue all the way down the length of her spine; eliciting a whimper from her, her entire body trembling from both the new sensation and the aftermath of her powerful orgasm. His hands running over her shoulders, fingertips grazing over her ribs and down to her hips, once more gripping them tightly as he pushes into her. The friction intense; the press of her body against the bed, the tightness of those barely spread legs, his hips sinking as far into her as they possibly can. A low, feral growl erupting from within his chest as he bottoms out inside of her. Dropping his head, longer strands of hair brushing against her bare skin as his teeth nip at her shoulders and the back of her neck. Holding back as he revels in the sensation of being so deep inside of her, until her hand is lifting up and blindly grabbing at his hair; a clear indication for him to continue. And he captures her hand in hers, holding her arm above her head, pinned to the mattress as he pulls out entirely and then slides back in with such force that it pushes her body up the body and causes her to cry out into the pillow underneath her.

His control is non existent. He'd felt it slipping away inside that conference room. Everything was going to shit and he knew it. The disaster was inevitable; looming on the horizon like some dark, threatening cloud that you can't possibly outrun. Things have already gone so wrong. The worry and the fear are already overwhelming. The stress all consuming. And he is physically channels those emotions; using her body as a way to relieve some of the burden. Bruising, painful thrusts that have her whimpering and crying out, his name repeatedly tumbling from her parched lips. Her nails digging into his fingers with enough force to break the top layer of skin, her other hand grasping at the sheets below. And he kneels above her, free hand sliding between her and the mattress, fingers pushing past her sopping lips to find her clit. Slowly rubbing at it until the second orgasm hits; tears streaming down her face, his name being screamed loud enough for anyone in the hallway or adjacent rooms to here. Continuing his ministrations until she's coming a third time; her eyes wide, delirious sounds escaping her. Fucking her until she can't quite possibly can't handle any more; both hands biting into her hips as he pushes his pelvis against her ass and empties himself inside of her. Sweat dripping from his brow, the droplets glistening on her bare skin.

Afterwards they rest. Letting their bodies settle. Their minds absorb -and fixate- on all of the information they'd be given early. He lays on back, a forearm over his eyes, a hand on Esme's hip as she naps on her side, ass tucked against his hip. He hears her stir; the long, soft sigh that she releases, followed by her quiet, sleepy voice.

“Tyler?”

He switches positions, rolling over onto his side; front pressed tightly against her back. The hand that was on her hip now coming to rest on her shoulder; palm gliding all the way down her arm, fingertips passing over her wrist and down onto the top of her hand, then retreating and sliding back up again, until his hand settles on her ribs. 

“Yeah?” he asks, and presses a kiss to her shoulder.

“Are you okay? You seem...I don't know...different. Distant. Ever since the meeting with Nik.”

“I'm fine,” he assures her. “Just a lot on my mind.”

“Like?”

“Lots of things. About us. About you.”

“Bad things or...?”

“I'm just worried,” he admits.

“About?” 

“You.”

She brings her arm across her body and places her hand over his, lacing their fingers together.

“I don’t want you going there,” he says. “To that bar. Alone.”

“You’ll be outside. A hundred feet away.”

“Outside,” he stresses the word. “You’ll be inside. Alone.”

“I’m only going in there to ask some questions,” she reasons. “See if I can’t lure them in. Get them to talk. Or send me in the direction of people who will. What do you think is going to happen?”

“They’re IRA,” he reminds her. “They’ll be armed. What if they make you?”

“They won’t. I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you?”

She sighs, slipping her hand out of his and then rolling over to face him. Their heads sharing the same pillow, the ends of their noses practically touching.

His hand moves to her thigh now, stroking it softly. 

“Remember in the elevator?” she asks. “When that kid was armed and I was freaking out? And you said you weren’t some rookie?”

He nods.

“Well neither am I. This isn’t the first time I’ll be doing this. I spent years going into worse places. Mingling. Being accepted. Getting people to open up to me. I’ve dealt with some pretty scary, hard core people and not once did I ever get made. You need to trust me, Tyler.”

“I do trust you. You’re my wife. I trust you with my kids, don’t I?”

“It’s not the same thing and you know it. I’m not talking about the trust that comes with sharing a life together. Sharing a bed. Sharing children. I’m talking about the trust that comes with the job.”

His brow furrows. “You’re not in the job. You never have been. And I don’t want you to be.”

“Then why am I here?” she challenges.

“Because I need your help.”

“Which means I’m in this. Whether you like it or not. You brought me into this, Tyler. I was more than happy to stay home and take care of a house and give you babies and raise those babies. That is what you wanted. You made that clear as soon as we got married. You wanted a housewife. You wanted someone to give you kids. You wanted a family. You wanted everything your mother was and then some. And I went with it. Because I knew it was what you needed. I knew you needed that normalcy. That if you were going to successfully balance the job and a regular life, that you needed things a certain way at home. And I’ve given you that. Or I’ve tried to, at least.”

“You have. You know you have. And you know how much I love you. How much I love my kids. How much I love our life. And you’re right. I did need all of that. I still do.”  
“But I had a life before you. I had a life before all of this. Before marriage and kids.”

“I know.”

“And it bothers you to even think about. You hate thinking about what I was like before you. But this was my life, Tyler. Before you ever existed in it. I lied to people. I conned them. I made them trust me. Then I let other people…people like you…destroy them. And I was good at it. Damn good. Other mercenaries trusted me. So why don’t you?”

He regards her intently, drawing in a long, shaky breath, teeth grazing against his bottom lip. “Because it’s different.”

“How? And I’m not trying to be difficult. I’m genuinely curious. How is it different?”

“Because you weren’t married to any of them. I’m your husband. The father of your kids. They didn’t have any ties to you. I do. I love you. And I don’t want anything happening to you.”

“You trusted me in Dhaka,” she points out.

“Dhaka was different.”

“How so?”

“Because it fucking was,” his last shred of patience finally snaps, and he hates himself for it. How he doesn’t have a logical and sound explanation for why he feels the way he does. “Things were different then,” he attempts, and rolls over onto his back, running his hands over his face before sitting up and leaning back against the headboard. “We were different then.”

“We were just fucking then, you mean. Back then, I meant nothing to you. I was just some desperate and lonely girl. A warm body for you to occupy yourself with. It was easier for you that way. To just let me do what I needed to do because I meant absolutely nothing to you. It wouldn’t have mattered back then if something happened to me.”

He gives a derisive snort and shakes his head, then reaches for a bottle of water on the nightstand. “That’s bullshit and you know it. You meant something. Even then. I don’t know what it was. I can’t explain what I felt. I just know I felt it. I just know you meant something. Stop tying to fucking psychoanalyze me all the time. I know what I felt. About you. About what was happening. I shouldn’t have to explain it.”

“It was sex, Tyler. There’s nothing wrong with admitting it. That that’s all it was.”

“That’s not all it was. Maybe it started out that way. Maybe that’s all I wanted at first. But it changed, okay? Some time in those five days. I don’t know when or how. Just that it did. I knew I wanted more from you. That we could have something fucking amazing if we actually tried. If we trusted one another enough to try. And we were so close. So fucking close. To getting that. To getting to that boat and never looking back and just seeing where things took us.”

“Do you regret the path we had to take to get to where we are now?”

“I don’t regret anything. Do I sometimes wish things were different? That things didn’t go so wrong in Dhaka? I wish that all the time. That we just got across the bridge and got the fuck out of there. But we didn’t. Things happened the way they did. We can’t go back and change that. Do I wish we could have had more time to get to know each other? Before we found out we were having a baby and decided to get married? Yeah. Sometimes I do wish that. Only because I think it would have been better for you.”

“Tyler, I have you. I have our kids. How much better do you think I need things to be?”

“I don’t mean better in that way. I mean…I don’t know…easier…” he swallows half the bottle of water, and she plucks it from his hand and finishes it before pushing herself up onto her knees and shuffling towards him. “…don’t make me talk about these things. Please. Just don’t.”

“You’re doing fine,” she assures him, as she straddles his lap, a gentle smile on her lips as she pushes her fingers through his hair, nails scraping along his scalp before resting clasping her hands together at the nape of his neck. “What are you so scared of?”

“Nothing. I’m not scared of anything. I just don’t want to talk about shit like this. This isn’t me. You know that.”

“I think it is. Deep down. I think you need to talk about these things or you wouldn’t bring them up in the first place. Talk to me…” she pecks his lips, then rests her forehead against. “It’s okay…you can do this…you can be this way with me…you know that…”

He sighs, eyes closing as his palms run along her thighs, over her hips and up her back. Stopping briefly at her shoulders; fingers pressing into the flesh before his hands slide back down again, coming to rest of her sides. 

“It’s okay…” she repeats. “Tyler…look at me…”

He opens his eyes. Brilliant blue locked on chocolate brown. And in that moment, Esme realizes that in almost six years, she’s never seen him like this. Not even when he was in the hospital fighting to not only heal, but to regain some sense of control over his life. Looking so confused and lost. Worried. 

Vulnerable.

This big, strong and seemingly invincible man for once wearing his heart on his sleeve. 

“Tyler…you can say it. Whatever you need to say. You don’t have to do this. Keep things from me. Please. Just tell me. Talk to me.”

“Sometimes I think you hate me. For making things so hard on you.”

She blinks. “What?”

“For having to make the decisions you did. For having to give up your life. The job. Everything changed when we met. Everything changed once things went to shit on that bridge. I changed. So did you. And you could have just walked away afterwards. But you didn’t.”

“Because I didn’t want to. Because I wanted to be with you. You didn’t force me to stay. I stayed willingly.”

“But things were hard. They sucked. Huge. You shouldn’t have had to see the things you did. Hear the things you did. You should have just left. When I was in the hospital. You should have just walked away. And sometimes I wonder if you wish you did.”

“Not once have I ever wished that. Not once have I ever hated you. I don’t regret giving up my life for you. Did it suck sometimes? Did I hate seeing you like that? Did I feel like shit because I couldn’t help you more than I already was? Did I hate seeing you in pain and suffering? Of course I did. I hated the circumstances. Not you.”

He nods slowly, eyes never leaving hers, searching for even the smallest hint of regret. 

“Do I sometimes wish none of that ever happened? That things never went wrong in Dhaka? Of course I do. I wish every day that you didn’t have to go through what you did. That you didn’t have to suffer like you did. All those months of rehab and all the pain. I would take those away in a heartbeat and you know I would. But everything else? Finding out we were having a baby? Deciding to get married? I don’t regret any of that. I mean, you’re a pain in my ass…”

He gives a small chuckle.

“…but I don’t regret marrying you. Or having your children. And I’ve never hated you. Not even during our worst fights. When you’ve said some brutal and hurtful shit. Not even then. I love you. More than I ever thought I could love someone. And I meant what I said. That there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. But you need to trust me, Tyler. You wanted my help. You brought me into this. And now you have to trust me to do what I need to do. I know what I’m doing.”

“I can’t lose you,” his voice is barely above a whisper, those eyes still locked on hers. “I just can’t. You always talk about how scared you are to lose me. But I’m just as scared as you are. I don’t want to lose you. I can’t do this by myself. Take care of four kids. I just can’t.”

“Yes. You can. You would do it because you wouldn’t have any other choice.”

He shakes his head, finally turning his face away from her when the emotion becomes too much to handle. The rawness of the situation. The blatant, heart breaking honesty. 

“You’re stronger and braver than you give yourself credit for,” she says, and presses a kiss to his temple. “You’d be okay. And so would the kids.”

“I don’t…” the tears are hot and bitter as they trickle down his face. “….can we not talk about this….please…I don’t want to talk about this…”

Placing a soft, tender kiss on his cheek, she lays on hand on the back of his head, encouraging him to rest it upon her shoulder.

“I don’t want to talk about this,” he whispers, and then clings to her, arms wrapped tightly around her slender body. “Please…” he begs, barely able to get the words out. “…don’t make me talk about this…”

She tightens her hold on him, one arm wrapped around his neck, the fingers of her other hand pressing into his scalp. “It’s okay,” she assures him. “It’s okay, Tyler. I’ve got you.”

Those words hit with tremendous power. And he surrenders. Finally giving in to all the fear and the worry. 

His entire body shaking with the ferocity of his sobs.


	25. Chapter 25

It's seven thirty in the evening when they park three blocks away from the Slainte pub; sidewalks crawling with pedestrians, streets packed with cars, restaurant patios standing room only and offering up not only booze and traditional Irish and American dishes, but live music as well. At first neither of them move or speak. The only sounds the clicking of the cooling engine and the muffled sounds of conversations and laughter filtering in from the outside world. Tyler grips the steering wheel so tight his knuckles turn white; his eyes dark and stormy, brow furrowed, lips set in a thin, stern line. Everything is telling him that this is a bad idea; that aching pit in his stomach, the tightness in his throat, the anxiety that sits heavily on his chest. He's tempted to just say 'fuck it' and turn the car back on and return to the hotel. Or to actually accompany her to her destination; sitting inside as opposed to being separated by hundreds of feet and walls of brick and glass. 

“You have to trust me. Tyler.” 

Her voice plays over and over in his head. It isn't that he doesn't trust her. He trusts her with his life. With his children's lives. It's that the threat of losing her is becoming all too terrifyingly real. The thought that anything could happen while she was in there alone. Someone in that bar could have seen her at the hotel or with him out on the street or at the airport and 'make her' as soon as she stepped through the door. If they know who she is...who she is tied to...it's game over. There is no coming back from what will happen to her. They will beat her. Rape her. Torture her. For days on end until they finally got their fill. And then they'd kill her. It has happened before; women tied to mercenaries captured and unbelievably savagery and brutality unleashed on them. Even if they did manage to survive, the effects and the trauma were long lasting. Life altering. And it's a fate that is just too painful to consider.

He thinks of his kids. At the thought of actually having to do it alone. Raise them as a single father. And it makes him nauseous. His head pounds; sweat gathers at his temples and upon his brow. And he reaches into the side pocket of his cargo pants and takes out a bottle of anti anxiety meds; twisting open the cap and dumping four into his mouth.

Esme notices but says nothing. Simply resting her hand on his thigh and and giving it a tight squeeze. She never judges him; she knows his struggles with mental illness. The effects of his PTSD and depression. The often crippling anxiety. All seemingly kept at bay until McMann had stepped into their lives and torn it all to shit. 

She moves beside him now; grabbing the laptop bag that rests between her feet, pulling those fake eyeglasses from a side pocket and slipping them onto her face. “Well?” she inquires, and turns to face him. “What do you think?”

He can't help but smile. She looks years younger. With that fresh face devoid of any make up and shimmering red hair and those freckles across the bridge of her nose. Looking the part of the working girl in a simple pair of black dress slacks and a cream short sleeved blouse that plunges just far enough to both capture attention and send any mortal man's curiosity into overdrive. 

“I think you should get glasses for real,” he replies, and leans across the front seat to kiss her. He can taste her tinted lip gloss; a mix of coconut and strawberry. And he wishes he could keep kissing her forever. “Are you sure about this?” he asks. “I need you to be sure about this.

“I'm good,” she assures her. “Are you sure about this?”

“No,” he admits. “I'm not.”

“I'll be okay,” she promises, laying a hand on the side of his face and pecking his lips. “I've got this. I know what I'm doing. Just hold up your end of the bargain, okay? You only come in if you hear something going wrong.”

“It'll be too late if I wait that long.”

“Give me a chance,” she implores. “If I'm not out in twenty minutes, then come in and get me. Don't talk to anyone, don't make every contact. Just walk in and grab me and we leave. But I need at least twenty to get anything out of these people. Even if it's just names of other people to talk to.”

“There's a restaurant across the street. I'll be waiting there. On the patio. When I see you come out, I'll wait until you've turned the corner and then I'll catch up. Okay?”

She nods.

“I don't like this. Not one fucking bit.”

“It's going to be okay, Tyler. You just have to trust me.”

He nods, then presses a kiss to her forehead. “Just be careful.”

“I will,” she vows, a gentle smile curving her lips, so much love and adoration in her eyes and written all over her face as she reaches up to push his hair away from his eyes. She gives him on last peck on the lips and then opens the car door, stepping out on the street and slinging the laptop bag over her shoulder. Shooting him a smile and a small wave of the fingertips before crossing the busy street.

He watches through the rear view mirror as she goes. Then waits until she disappears around the next corner before climbing out himself.

****

He arrives first; his gait longer and quicker. And he takes a seat at one of the remaining tables on the restaurant patio. A table for four; sitting in the very middle, facing the other side of the street and the busy pub that is their target. Taking in the surroundings; the bouncer at the door, several couples sitting outside under umbrellas emblazoned with the Guinness logo, an acoustic guitar player completing the equipment set up before his gig. Through the pub's front window he can see the wet bar that stretches all the way from front to back; a handful of customers on the stools, a waitress moving around with notepad and pen in hand, a lone bartender tending to thirsty patrons.

He orders a beer and pretends to be interested in seeing a a menu. Even the littlest things can spark suspicion,and it's better to be safe than sorry. And he's just slipped his sunglasses onto his face when Esme finally rounds the corner, and he sees the nervous way she tucks her hair behind her ears and constantly looks over her shoulder. It's been a long time since she's done something like this. Walked into the unknown and lied and conned to get her way. But it's like riding a bike; once you hit the right stride and your confidence comes back 

She pauses before approaching the door, casting a glance in his direction. A tiny smile tugging at her lips. 

He raises his hand in a small wave, then gives her a reassuring smile of his own, followed by a stiff nod. Sipping his beer, watching over the rim of the glass as she briefly engages with the bouncer, flashing the hulking man a dazzling smile before reaching into the pocket on her pants and pulling out one of the fictitious business cards that Nik had made up. Chatting amicably, gesturing animatedly with her hands, cocking her head to the side and giving that flirtatious little grin that he knows so well. He hates it. Seeing her that way with other men, Whether it's for a job or not. And he'd never considered himself a jealous or possessive man. Until her. And he actually frowns when she lays a hand on the other man's bicep. Legitimately angry at how the younger man is so obviously checking her out; the way he gallantly opens the door for her and then his eyes focus on her ass as she steps inside.

Gulping down a mouthful of beer, he takes his SAT from the side pocket of his pants and sends Nik a quick and simple text.

SHE'S IN.

******

The wooden floors are scuffed and bowed; peanut shells and wood shavings cracking under the soles of her heels. It fits every stereotype that her mind has ever held of an Irish pub; Guinness on tap, the smell of fish and chips hanging heavily in the air, polished wood tables and booths, chairs and stools and benches clad in rich green vinyl. The Tiffany glass swag lamps that hang over diners as they eat, the dart pools and pool tables taken up by the young and old alike. 

She notices the attention she attracts; a fairly young woman clad in modest business attire, the black patent pumps and the vibrant hair. She feels the eyes on her with each patron she passes; the curious, the intrigued, the suspicious. A fresh face in a place like this is bound to turn some heads, and puts an extra sway in her hips as she walks, licking her lips and making them glisten, shy smiles for the men her age and younger, broader and more friendly ones for the elderly gents. It's been a hell of a long time she's had to play this game; lure men in, give them a false sense of confidence, encourage them to approach yet not coming across as too eager. She's missed it. The sense of satisfaction that you get when you know you've got someone on the hook and you just keep reeling them in until they're eating out of the palm of your hand.

“May I?” she address an older man as he drinks at the bar, casting a glance down at the overcoat and the copy of that day's paper that sits on the stool beside him. 

“Of course, love. My apologies,” he hurriedly removes the items, then gallantly offers a hand to help her up onto the stool.

“A gentleman,” she muses, and curls her fingers around him, accepting the gesture with a smile. 

“Can I buy you a drink, love?” he sounds a little too eager. But he's encouraged by the fact that a woman more than half his age has chosen the seat beside him...out of all the empty stools remaining at the bar...to perch herself upon. 

“I'd love to accept, but I'm actually on the job.”

“Something non alcoholic, then. Just to quench your thirst.”

She relents, laying a hand on his shoulder and squeezing lightly. “That would be lovely, thank you.”

“Billy!” he calls down to the bar keep, a younger man that leans against the end of the bar, watching soccer on the flat screen mounted on the nearby wall. 

Esme estimates his age; twenty five, thirty at the most. Tall and and thin but blessed with broad shoulders and a wide back. Rowing perhaps. Maybe even swimming. A brush cut that draws attention to the thick silver hoops in each ear lobe and the tribal tattoos that decorate each side of his thick, strong neck. Faded and well fitting blue jeans. Doc Marten boots. A black and red button down plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows and a white tee underneath. Casual, yet well put together. And he regards her suspiciously as he wanders towards them, both hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans.

“Something for my new friend here,” the older gentleman says. “And another for me. “

“Just a diet coke,” she orders with a smile. Not too broad. Not too dazzling. Just right to break the ice. It's a process; some people are more easily charmed than others. She can tell he's going to be more of a challenge. If she seemed too friendly and chatty, it would turn him off from continuing a conversation. Too standoffish and he won't even engage. “Busy in here tonight. Is it always like this?”

“One of our more busy Thursdays,” the bartender confirms, as he moves way to gather their drinks. 

“I'm sorry love,” the man beside her speaks up. “But I didn't catch your name,”

“That's because I didn't give it to you. Patience is a virtue, after all.” She pulls out her cell phone...her personal line...and uses the front facing camera as a ruse to fix her make up and touch up her hair, sneaking a picture of the young bar keep as he pours a stein of Guinness. She slips her phone back into the laptop bag, then turns to the older man with her hand out. “I'm Meghan. Meghan Young.”

“George,” he says in return, politely shaking her hand and then going the extra step of pressing his lips against the top of it. “You're not from around these parts, are you? An outsider. What brings a pretty young lass like yourself to these neck of the woods?”

“Business,” she offers a smile of gratitude as the bar keep places her drink in front of her, then takes the plastic straw behind her thumb and forefinger and places just the tip between her lips, eyes never leaving Billy's as she takes a long pull. “I'm here for work,” she continues, and removes one of the business cards from the side pouch on the laptop bag, placing it on the top of the bar and then sliding it across with the tip of her finger.

“What kind of business?” George inquires, sitting sideways on his stool now, leaning towards her ever so slightly.

Billy picks up the card, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as he reads the information. “Journalist.”

“For the Chicago Tribune.”

“And they send you all the way here on business?”

“They send me everywhere. Nothing can stop a reporter from chasing a good story. And I've stumbled upon quite the winner, here. I was hoping maybe you gentleman could help me. Give me a little information. Or at least point me in the right direction.”

Billy slips the business card into the breast pocket of his shirt, then leans back against the bar, arms folded across his chest. “What kind of information?”

She leans forward, elbows on the bar, hands clasped around the glass of soda. “I received an anonymous tip. From someone in Chicago that has connections. To the IRA.” Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the way George's eyebrows shoot up, mug of beer pressed to his lips. “Is it true? That this place is owned by a member?”

George is more forthcoming with the information, eager to please and impress. “Indeed it is. Been in the same family for more than fifty years. All of them in the IRA. What makes you so interested?”

“I've heard there's some trouble brewing.” she keeps her voice low. “Between the IRA and one of their ex members. Who has ties to a New Zealand crime family.”

George nods enthusiastically, then looks at the young bar keep. “She's talking about McMann.”

“How do you know of him?” Billy asks her.

“I already said. An anonymous source with his ties to the IRA.”

“What's his name?”

“A journalist never, ever gives up her sources. I'm sure it's the same way with you. I'm sure you'd never out one of your informants would you.”

His smirk grows.

“Look,” she sips at her drink, then taps her fingernails against the glass. “Journalism is a dying art these days. Everything is on the web. There's no substance. No spice. There's no one out there delving into the hard topics and writing truly valuable human interest stories. I want to bring that back. I want to bring back the passion for the written word. A story like this could launch my career. I could really make a name for myself. And I'd really appreciate if you'd help me out. If not now, then maybe we can arrange something? Talk in private?”

He nods down at her wedding band. “You're married?”

“Separated. He's out of the picture. Chose work over me. What's the saying? His loss is another man's game? I really, really, really want this,” she adds a slight plea to her voice. “Badly. And there's nothing I wouldn't do to get the information I need. Is it true? That the IRA kidnapped McMann's wife and son's?”

Billy shakes his head. “Rumour. We...they...had nothing to do with it. It's that crime family you mentioned. Trying to stir up trouble.”

“Do you think we could arrange something? Perhaps I could come back after hours? Or during the day when it isn't as busy?”

He nods, a slow grin spreading across his face. “We can definitely arrange something.”

“And I was thinking...” she runs the sides of her fingers along her straw, her eyes never leaving his. “...it would really help if I could get more than one perspective on things. Perhaps someone higher up the chain of command? A boss? Someone with a little more...pull?”

“I could arrange something.”

“You're a life saver, William,” she shoots him a wink, and she sees the slight blush that creeps into his cheeks at the use of his full name. “Here...give me your hand...” she motions for him to do as asked, and when he steps forward, palm down, she turns it out to face her. Then fetches a pen from her back and scrawls her SAT number into his skin. “This is a better, more private line to reach me on. Non work related. If you catch my drift.”

“Oh I catch your drift alright,” he says, and then gives her hand a squeeze before she pulls it away.

She pulls her cell phone from her back, gasping dramatically when she checks the time. “I'm running late. I have another place to be. More people to talk to. It was a pleasure, William. I look forward to seeing you again.”

“Pleasure was all mine,” he declares. “I'll be in touch.”

She flashes him a dazzling smile. “I hope so. George...” she lays a hand on the older man's back, rubbing softly as she slides off the stool. “You're a gentleman. And incredibly charming. Thank you for the drink.”

“Hope to see you again,” he calls after her, as she slings the laptop bag over her shoulder and heads for the door,

*****

Tyler glances down at his cell phone.

Five minutes to go.

He sips his beer, leans back in his chair, nervously rubs his palms against his thighs. The world continues around him; despite the fact that fifteen minutes ago his entire life...his heart...disappeared through the front door of the pub across the street. He hasn't felt the effects of the booze and the anxiety meds; his nerves and senses still on high alert. Eyes always watching. Ears pricked for any hint of trouble across the street. His stomach in knots, chest tight. He can't sit still. He drums his fingers against the table top, nervously shakes his legs or taps his foot, runs his hands through his hair, chews absentmindedly on the corner of his thumb nail. A frown crossing his face when someone deliberately plants their body in front of him. And he's about to look up and ask them what the fuck when a voice beats him do it.

“Fancy meeting you here.”

What in the actual fuck? He thinks, and glances up. Nostrils flaring. Brow furrowing. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Thought I'd pop by,” Mark says, hands shoving his hands in the pockets of his khakis. “Esme's inside, isn't she,” he nods in the direction of the pub across the street.

“What the hell do you want? Why are you here? How the hell did you find me?””

“I know how to tap cell phones. You used your private one about ten minutes ago. This is where I tracked you to.”

Oh for fucks sakes.

“What's she doing in there? Intel?”

“Would you shut the fuck up?” Tyler hisses. “What is wrong with you? Keep your fucking voice down.”

“How long she been in there?”

“I said shut the fuck up. Are you trying to get her caught? Now sit down and keep your mouth shut.”

“She's a feisty one, huh? I can imagine how hard she had to talk you into this.”

“I said sit the fuck down. Now.”

He finally relents, slipping into the chair across from Tyler.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Mark? What the hell is going on? How'd you know where I was?”

“Who do you think Nik came to for help? To arrange all the secret meeting stuff back at the hotel? The secure satellite feed? The new SAT phones. The fake Ids. You really think she pulled all that off on her own?”

“Why you? What the hell do you have to do with any of this?”

“Come on now, you honestly didn't know I was FBI.”

Tyler frowns. “You're a Fed? Are you serious right now?”

“I'm surprised Esme didn't tell you. She probably didn't tell you the rest, either. About asking me for help.”

His eyes narrow. “What?”

“She was worried about you. Said you'd got mixed up into some mess with the IRA. Asked me to tap your phones and trace your whereabouts. In case something happened to you. I told her she probably didn't need to be so concerned. You're a big boy. You can take care of yourself. But you know how she gets. All worked up and anxious. A real mother hen.”

“Are you always this big of an asshole? Is it a gift or...?”

“I'm actually quite flattered. That she'd even think of me. Guess maybe she's still hanging onto some of the past. Just can't quite seem to let me go.”

“You're about five seconds away from getting my foot up your ass, mate. Now either shut up or fuck off. I don't have time for your shit.”

“Ever the busy man,” he smirks. “Always running off to solve everyone elses problems but never dealing with your own.”

“Mark, I swear to Christ, if you don't shut the fuck up...”

“Bitter pill to swallow, huh? Knowing she still thinks about me.”

“Listen you little shit...” Tyler leans across the table. “...I don't know what you want or why you're here, but either keep your mouth shut or I shut it for you. I don't have the time or the fucking patience for this.”

He holds his hands up in surrender. “I'm just here to help...mate.”

Tyler's blood boils. But he refuses to take the bait. The games won't work on him, no matter how hard the other man tries.

“Kind if a shitty move on your part, don't you think?” Mark asks. “Getting her mixed up in all this? Considering how she thinks of you as her hero. Her knight in shining armour. The one that came along and helped her get over me. That one that was able to give her the life that she really wanted. A happy marriage, a bunch of kids, nice place to live. That's kind of a bitch thing to do, Rake. Give her all of that and play the role of her hero and then fuck it all up like this. You'd think you'd want to keep her away from all of this. You know, seeing as you are always going on and on about how much you love her and would never hurt her. Not exactly walking the walk, huh?”

“I will fucking kill you, Mark. If you don't keep your goddamn mouth shut, I will bury you. Do you honestly believe the shit that is coming out of your mouth right now? Or do you just like to hear yourself talk? You know nothing about my marriage. About my wife. About our lives together. So just sit there and keep your mouth shut,” he glances down at his phone. It's well past the twenty minute mark. “Fuck,” he mutters, and stands up, taking money out of his wallet and tossing it down on the table.

“Sleeping on the job, huh? Not quite on the ball when it comes to keeping an eye on her, are you.”

“Just...stop...just shut the fuck up and...” he notices the door to the pub open up and Esme finally step out, watching as she exchanges parting pleasantries with the bouncer before hurrying off down the sidewalk. “I gotta go.”

“Are you serious right now?” Mark asks incredulously. “You're going to leave her in there while you chase after another woman?”

“You idiot. That's Esme. She dyed her hair. You absolute fucking idiot. Stay here. Don't follow me.”

“Like hell I'll stay here,” Mark says, and stands up as well. “What are you going to do, Rake? Stop me?”

“Don't fucking tempt me,” Tyler retorts, eyes on Esme until she rounds the corner and disappear. “Let's go. If you're coming, let's go. Now.”

****

They reach the car first, Tyler using the keyless entry to unlock the vehicle, then tossing open the back passenger door.

“Get in,” he orders.

“I don't get to call shotgun?”

“Just get in,” he snarls, and then slams the door shut when the other man finally complies. Pacing by the side of the car until he finally hears the hurried click of heels against the payment. Relief washing through him when she finally comes around the corner, pausing momentarily to lean a hand against a building in order to remove her heels. Now in her bare feet, shoes in her hand. “That was twenty five minutes,” he informs her.

“It took a little longer than expected,” she admits, as he lays a hand on her hip and kisses her softly. “They were chatty. Not particularly helpful, but chatty. My feet were killing. These things are bullshit. Remind me never to wear heels again.”

He takes the shoes from her, a hand on the back as he escorts her to her side of the car. Pausing before opening her door, instead tossing open the back one and tossing the heels into the back seat with enough force to catch Mark on the side of the head and leave some damage. 

“I'm starving,” she announces, as her husband opens her door. “Let's go and get something to eat. We'll have to drive pretty far out of the way so no one recognizes you or sees us together. Do you think they sell tacos somewhere?”

“Just get in,” Tyler says, and gives her one last peck on the lips before she slips into the car. “Let's just the fuck out of here, yeah?”

She nods in agreement, and reaches for her seat belt as he closes her door.

“Hi Esme,” Mark greets her from the backseat, and she nearly jumps clear out of her skin.

“What the hell?!”she shrieks. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“He's here to help,” Tyler says, as he slips behind the wheel and starts the ignition, tires squealing as he peels away from the curb. “You know. Like you asked him to.”

She glares at her ex husband. “You dumb ass motherf-...”

“Like the man just said, you asked.”

“You weren't supposed to show up here!” she hisses. “You were supposed to send someone! This is not what we agreed to!”

“I had some time off coming. I figured why not to the deed myself? I could use a little excitement.”

“You're going to get a little excitement when I come back there and beat your ass!” she threatens. “What is wrong with you? I told you not to tell Tyler. I told you...”

“Uhhh...excuse me...” her husband speaks up. “...Tyler is right here. Tyler can fucking hear you.”

“It's not what you think,” she says. “I did not ask Mark to come here. I asked him for help. But I never told him to come here.”

“Why didn't you just leave it alone? After I told you McMann? I told you all of that in confidence.”

“In her defence,” Mark pipes up. “She was just worried about you.”

“You shut up. I''m not talking to you. I'm talking to my wife. You know, your ex wife.”

“Okay...guys...take it down a notch...” Esme insists. “....there's too much ego in this car right now. Mark, shut up and mind your business, okay? This doesn't involve you.”

“Well it does considering you're the one who asked me for help.”

“Just...shut...up...” she spits out every word. “Or I'll have Tyler stop this car and get him to toss your ass out in the middle of the road.”

“I can stop right here,” Tyler suggests. “Throw him right out into traffic.”

“You'd like that wouldn't you,” Mark snorts.  
“You know what? I actually would. I would love to toss your arrogant ass right in the path of an eighteen wheeler.”

“Simmer down...please...” Esme begs. “Yes. I asked him for help. I told him about McMann. Because I don't trust him and I was worried about you.”

“It was between us. In confidence.”

“I was worried about you, Tyler. You were walking into this blind with nothing but McMann's word to go on. Maybe I overreacted...”

“You think, Esme? You really think?”

“...but I wanted to help you and keep you safe and that was the only way I knew how.”

“You had my phone and my SAT traced? Are you serious?”

“I wanted someone to have your back. To keep an eye on you,” she reasons. “I didn't do it to betray your confidence. I did it because I was worried. That's all. I'm sorry. I didn't meant to upset you, Tyler. I did it because I love you and wanted to make sure you were okay.”

He sighs heavily, shaking his head. 

“I'd be pissed too,” Mark says, and Tyler glares at him through the rear view mirror. “Just saying.”

“You really need to just shut up and stay that way,” Esme tells him. “See that vein throbbing in the side of his neck? That's the vein that throbs when he's about to impale someone with a garden rake. So just...shhhh...”

There's finally blissful silence. Tyler's head pounds ferociously, his stomach growls. “How'd it go?” he asks. 

“It was like taking candy from a baby. They just bought it hook, line, and sinker. The bartender is definitely IRA. No doubt about it. I gave him my card. He says he's going to call. And pass my name and number around to other people that can give me info. They honestly think I'm here to write an article about the what's going on between the IRA and the Buckmans. And McMann's wife and kids. It was so easy, Tyler. You would have been so proud of me.”

“I am proud of you,” he says, and she smiles. 

“You guys realize I'm still back here, right?” Mark speaks up. “And that we're now about half an hour from where I left my car?”

“For fucks sakes!” Tyler bellows, and makes an erratic U turn in the middle of oncoming traffic. 

“You might want to do up your seat belt,” Esme suggests to her ex. “Tyler doesn't know what stop signs and red lights mean.”

It takes half the time to get back into town. The blatant and dangerous traffic violations making for a quick, yet nerve wracking trip. And Tyler pulls up in front of the restaurant he'd run into Mark at.

“Get out!” he orders. “Just get out! Now!”

Mark puts up little resistance. “Your shoes,” he says, to Esme, holding out the heels.

“You're a real fucking tool,” she declares, as he drops them into his lap.

“We'll be in touch,” Mark says, more to Tyler than her. “I look forward to working with you, Rake.”

Tyler smirks. Then floors the gas.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: SMUT, ANGST, TYLER BEING TYLER (I GUESS LOL)

The knock comes at quarter to nine. The unhurried rap of knuckles against wood. Through the peep hole Tyler can get a good look at the man on the other side; short and stocky, older than him, shaggy shoulder length salt and pepper hair and an unkempt beard. Looking as if he's heading to the beach in his baggy tropical print shorts and a white wife beater. He's calm. Collected. Casually glancing from the left to the right yet not in a dire hurry to fulfill his mission. And he's just raising his hand to knock again when Tyler opens the door; the chain firmly in place, giving the unknown man limited access.

“Who are you?” he inquires. 

“You Tyler Rake?”

He nods. “Yep.”

“Nik sent me. I came up from Dublin. I come bearing gifts,” he nods down at the two large duffle bags sitting at his feet. “You know, the kind that fuck shit up and tear people apart.”

“Name?”

“Padraig. Last name is on a need to know basis and you don't need to know.”

Tyler glances over his shoulder to where Esme sits at the table by the window, her SAT phone pressed to her ear, relaying the information in real time to Nik. Only turning back towards the man in the hallway when his wife gives him a nod indicating that everything is on the up and up. 

“You're a hard person to track down,” Padraig comments, as Tyler holds the door open for him and waits for him to step outside. “No one seems to know who the hell you are. Like you don't even exist. Like a goddamn ghost.”

“We had to switch things up. Move hotels,” Tyler checks the hallway for himself; looking left and right, making sure there's no one lurking about. No curious eyes or ears that are waiting to pass information back to the wrong people. 

“Got made, huh?”

“Before we even got on the damn plane,” he shuts the door, snaps the deadbolt in place.

Padraig gives Esme a polite nod in greeting, then addresses Tyler. “Who's she?”

“She's with me.”

“I can see that. But I was under the understanding it would be just the two of us, know what I'm saying? This is an A and B conversation, so she can see herself out. This isn't the time for girlfriends to be hanging around. No matter how cute they are.”

“She's my wife. And she's in on this. She's on the job too. So how about we cut the chit chat and get down to business?”

Padraig eyes her from head to toe. Taking in the baggy sweat pants and the tattered and weathered t-shirt she wears, then gives a nod of approval when he deems her a non-threat and offers a hand. “Padraig. But pretty little things like you can call me Paddy.”

“Esme,” she shakes his hand.

“How's a little thing like you get mixed up in all of this? With a guy like that?” he jerks his head in Tyler's direction.

“How do you know I didn't get him mixed up in all of this?” she counters, and he grins. 

“You're a fire cracker. I can tell,” he tosses the bags onto one of the beds and turns back to Tyler. “You got your hands full with that one, I reckon.”

“We're not here to make friends, mate. So how about we just cut the shit and get this done.”

“All business. I like that,” he takes a step back, nodding down at the bags. “Got your list. I was kind of surprised how much was on there, to be honest. I haven't had someone ask for a haul like this in a long time. You expecting some crazy shit? Going up against the entire army.?”

“Open them,” Tyler instructs. 

“Don't trust me? Think they're rigged or something?”

“I don't trust anyone. Open them.”

“Alright...alright...” the older man huffs. “...all business I see.”

Esme gets up from the table and makes her way over to the bed just as he finishes unzipping both bags. And when she reaches for the first one, two fingers cautiously and curiously pushing the thick fabric aside, she sees the way the man's eyebrows shoot up. 

“Relax, mate,” Tyler says. “Out of the two of us, she's the expert when it comes to these things.”

He holds his hands up in surrender, then takes a step back as she opens the bag further. Rummaging through the bundle of weapons and ammunition and various and random pieces of tactical gear. Knifes, bump stocks, flash lights, first aid supplies. But the guns are the drawing point. Revolvers, grenade launchers, fully automatic rifles with high tech scopes and all the bells and whistles. When she gets to the second bag she begins removing things; snapping them apart, carefully inspecting the various parts and components. Checking for any damage or wear and tear that could affect the performance. And Padraig's eyes are wide with both amazement and approval as he watches her.

She quickly and efficiently puts weapons back together, then returns them to the bag and takes a step back.

“Good?”” Tyler asks.

She nods.

“So which ones to you want?” Padraig asks.

Tyler smirks. “All of them.”

****

After a long and languid session of love making, they sit in bed. Backs against the headboard, devouring plates of food from room service, the television tuned in to international news. Terrorism in the Middle East, scandals and stupidity within the White House, racial tensions in the southern US, a shaky and unpredictable stock market. Losing themselves in crappy, high calorie food and ice cream and anything and everything going on the world aside from the job. Even other countries problems a welcome distraction from the high stakes drama surrounding them.

It is the quiet simplicities of life that both of them have come to cherish and hold onto with a fierce determination. The moments of comfortable and companionable silence; neither feeling the need to fill the void with mindless chit chat. Or the flirtatious teasing and lighthearted banter and conversation they're prone to; never malicious or hurtful, always done with the purest intent. Just enjoying one anothers company and feeling as if they're just an ordinary, normal couple. Even if everything around them is anything but.

Tyler's eyes are closed; legs stretched out in front of him, hands behind his head. Stomach finally full and satisfied. The anxieties and the worries of the day finally subsiding; allowing his mind to rest and all the tension in his body to finally loosen. Feeling the noticeable difference in his body; the way the muscles, ligaments and tendons finally loosen. A relief that actually makes him sigh out loud.

Esme moves beside him; a faint rattling of dishes as she places them on the little table next to her side of the bed, the soft rustling of sheets as she moves closer to him. Tucking herself into his side, a hand on his stomach, her head on his chest. And he drops one of his hands behind his head, softly running his palm over her hair and then down onto her shoulder. Fingertips grazing along that soft, smooth skin, travelling over her hand before sliding back up again to rest on her upper arm. 

“Were you sleeping?” she asks, her hand moving in slow circles on his stomach, fingers occasionally stopping to trace the hard lines and indents of his ab muscles.

He shakes his head. “Thinking.”

“About?”

“Australia, actually.”

Her hand travels slightly upwards and just to the left, two fingertips sliding over the thick, raised scar that had been left behind years ago when...in a state of rage and frustration...he'd yanked the just recently placed feeding tube clear out of his own body. He'd been pissed. Embarrassed. That it had come down to even needing something like that to help him on the road to recovery. Hating that she had to see him in such a state.

“You miss it,” she states.

“Sometimes,” Tyler admits. “Not often. It was time to move on. There was too much there holding me back. Holding us back.”

She nods in agreement. While they had been happy there, the ghosts of his past had visited way too often. His son's terminal illness and eventual death, an ex wife that would appear every now and again to try and make his life a living hell (angry that he'd gotten remarried and started a new family, even wishing illness and death on both Esme and their then infant daughter), an extremely toxic relationship with his father. There had always been something lingering in the background that had made being truly content nearly impossible.

Moving away had done them a world of good. He'd both thrived and flourished with a change of pace. His personal development, both mentally and physically, a stunning accomplishment. He'd become a different person; happier, at peace with himself and the decisions he'd made in the past, enjoying being a husband and a father and living a somewhat normal life. They still had their fair share of problems; their own relationship could be described as toxic in some ways. But once away from the other drama that plagued his life, they were able to concentrate on fixing things. On becoming not only better human beings, but better friends, spouses, and parents.

“It would be nice to go back though,” he says. “Just to visit. Take the kids. Let them see where I came from. Where I grew up.”

“They always have been curious about that. Always wanting to know why daddy sounds differently than they do when he talks. They'd love the beach. The ocean. You could even teach them to surf. I know you've always wanted that. A little surfing buddy. Or two. Or three.”

He smiles at that, drops a kiss on the top of her head. “We could even take them to Kimberly. Let them see the shack. It's where we met, after all. They might like to hear about that. How things started out between us.”

“There's a lot we'd have to leave out. The more...gory stuff.”

He nods in agreement. There's no way they'd ever be able to handle that. Anything that had gone down between their parents once they got to Dhaka. It was intense and wild. Not just their immense sexual attraction to one another, but after that they'd become embroiled in once the mission to extract Ovi had gone so horribly wrong. Sometimes he replays it in his mind. Trying to figure out where it had all started to fall apart. Finding solutions. Discovering decisions that could have made things easier. Better. There were regrets in that, regard. Things he should have said and done that would have made that bridge crossing a lot of a lot easier. Especially on her and the kid. 

“They could meet Koen,” he says. “And the chicken.”

She laughs. “Bathroom chicken. The one true love of Tyler Rake's life.”

“Naw...” he says, and with his free hand, brushing her hair off of her forehead and presses a kiss to her brow. “...I think that title belongs to someone else.”

She smiles, turning her face up towards his as he pecks her lips. “Baby...” she sighs, and nestles her face into his chest. “...you have such sweet pillow talk sometimes.”

“Sometimes?”

“Usually you're not a talker afterwards. You're either hungry or you pass out. No in between. Not that that makes me love you any less.” Her hand slides around to his right side; fingers tracing the tattoo that takes up a large portion of his rib cage.

“I guess they could meet my dad too,” he says as an after thought. “The kids.”  
“He's only met Millie. And she was just tiny then. Remember how small she was? You'd carry her with her head in the palm of your hand and her toes wouldn't even reach your elbow.”

He nods, smiling at the memory. There were times he still missed those moments. When he'd carry Millie around the apartment in his arms or he'd sit on the couch with her pressed against his chest. Her smell, the softness of her skin, the feel of her breath against him. Sometimes he'd hold her along his forearm and just stare at her. In awe of how beautiful she was. Wondering how he'd ever managed to help create something so pure and innocent and incredible. And questioning whether or not he deserved to feel that kind of love and happiness. 

After Austin, he'd abandoned the thought of ever having more kids. He simply couldn't imagine being married again or having a family. Not after the horrible decision he'd made to abandon his son when he'd needed him the most. Yet Millie was there. All six pounds, eight ounces of her. With her head head full of light brown hair and her huge blue eyes and those long yet surprisingly strong fingers that would tightly curl around just one of his. 

In a way, being able to stay home and not worry about the job while he worked on recovering had been a blessing. He'd been there from the second she was born. The first one that the doctor had handed her to, the one that cut her umbilical cord, who'd given her her first bath in the nursery. Never balking at getting up in the middle of the night with her, getting used to changing dirty diapers again, being able to witness the first time she rolled over or crawled, her first steps. He'd missed all of those milestones with the twins. Always out of the country when they happened; having to rely on videos or Esme's excited play by play. And it seemed to be repeating itself with Declan. He had words now; not just the babble and the garble that babies indulge in. And soon he'd be pulling himself up into a stand and walking. Crazy strong and determined for someone so young.

“It would be good for him,” Esme says. “To meet his other grandchildren. Maybe it will mellow him out a bit.”

“Doubt it. He's been a dick head for the entire forty years of my life. I don't see grandkids changing that. They came from me, after all. I helped make them. That only puts them at a disadvantage. The fact they're part of me. I'm the fuck up, remember? The one that can't do anything right.”

“No,” she corrects. “He is the fuck up, Tyler. Not you. He was a fuck up as a husband and a fuck up as a father. None of that was your fault.”

“Sometimes I'm still scared I'm going to end up just like him. Or maybe I already am. Maybe I'm more like him than I realize.”

“Oh my god, no. You are nothing like him,” she insists. “Not even close.”

She'd met him once. When they'd gotten married. And he'd shown up drunk and called her by Tyler's ex wife's name and then made a scene when corrected. After that, Tyler had kept her away from him and the only contact they had...even after Millie was born...was through phone calls.

“Look at the way we fight,” he says. 

“Every couple fights. Not just us.”

“I'm not talking about the normal fights. I'm talking about the knock 'em, drag 'em out fights. The brutal ones. Where we just say horrible, mean shit to each other to see who can hurt the other the most. That's fucked up. That's not normal. You know it. I know it.”

“It's just who we are. It's what we've always done. I don't think we know how to be any other way.”

“Maybe,” he says. “But I hate being that way. I don't want to be that way. I don't want to be the mean husband. The angry husband. The abusive husband.”

“You really don't think that about yourself do you? Abusive? Because you're not. You're far from it.”

“The shit I say to you is awful. It's horrible. No one should say shit like that to someone they love. I don't even know why I do it. Half the time, I don't even know I said until I sit back and think about it. That's not who I want to be. I want to be better. For you. You deserve that.”

“Maybe we both can be better,” she suggests. “It's not entirely one sided. I say just as much terrible shit to you. And I hate myself afterwards for it. For days. Even weeks and months later I think about it and stress over it. It'll just pop into my head and I'll think 'oh my God, you're a shitty person and you do not deserve him'. Lots of times I'd thought you'd just give up and leave. But you never did.”

“I'm not going anywhere,” he assures her. “We're in this together. Until the bitter end.”

“Hopefully the bitter end isn't for a long, long time,” she muses, and he nods in agreement.

She turns into him, pressing her warm body against his, a hand coming up to rest on the nape of his neck, fingers gently scraping against his scalp where the shortest strands of hair are. And he presses a kiss to the bridge of her nose and moves his hand to the middle of her back.

“Sometimes I miss it too,” she tells him. “Australia. Is it weird I actually miss our old apartment? I mean, we have our own home with tons of land and it's beautiful and perfect for us and for raising kids. But sometimes I miss that little apartment. It wasn't much, but it was ours. It was our first place together. That was a huge step for both of us. Actually moving in together and getting used to each other. I mean, we still didn't know each other that well yet we just jumped into it. It was scary. At least for me.”

“It was a little overwhelming,” he admits. It had been a challenge; learning how to fully trust someone again. To getting used to working as a team and abandoning his selfish bachelor ways in favour or taking care of and providing for someone else. 

She pulls back and smiles at him. “We did pretty good though. I mean, we're almost six years into this and we haven't killed each other. Yet.”

“Just so you know, I haven't had any homicidal thoughts in about three years,” he teases. “So I think you're safe.”

“I think I'll keep you,” she says. “I kind of like having you around. You're cute and you're a good kisser. And you're tall and you can reach the stuff on the high shelves. I think you get to stick around. At least for another five years.”

He smiles, then places a kiss to her brow and pulls her even tighter into him. Eyes closed, breathing in that soft and familiar scent. Feeling the warm of her body against his, her breath against his skin. Her mere presence is comforting. And he hates how the sense of doom lingers in every inch of his body and mind. The thought of how he'd miss her...everything about her...if she suddenly wasn't around any more.

****

“I hate him, you know,” he says after several minutes. 

“Who?” her knuckles repeatedly brush against the shorn section of hair at the back of his head. “Your father?”

“Him too. Mark. I fucking hate that guy.”

“I know. And you don't do a good job at hiding it either. And I am sorry. That I asked him for help. But it wasn't to betray you or piss you off. It was because I was worried. I didn't know who else to turn to, I knew he had the resources. I just thought he'd be a little more low key. I don't know what he is even doing here. He was supposed to send someone. Not show up.”

“Probably going to wait around until I get killed and then try and get you back,” he grumbles.

“I wouldn't go back to him if he was the last man on earth. I'd switch teams before that happened. And stop talking like that, okay? Nothing is going to happen to you. You're going to be fine. We're going to get this shit done and then we are going home and I am never, ever helping you out again. At least in this way. I can't believe I even let you talk me into this. Intel was one thing. But acting as tactical back up, like what the hell? Do you know long it's been since I've actually been in a situation like that? Longer than ten years.”

“It's like riding a bike,” he reasons. “And I trust you. To have my back. More than I'd trust anyone else.”

“Of course I'll have your back. No matter what. But this is just insane. I gave that part of my life up. A long time ago. How do I go from being a housewife and stay at home mother to all of this?”

“I bet you're really wishing you hadn't have stuck around in Australia,” he means it as a joke, but the frown on her face indicates that it definitely hasn't been received that way. “I was kidding. Totally kidding. Come here...” he pulls her into him, until she tumbles with a giggle into his lap, hands on his shoulders for stability as she manoeuvres her body over his; sitting sideways on his lap, both arms curled around his neck. “I didn't mean it the way you took it,” he assures her, and lays a hand on her head and encourages her to rest it on his shoulder. 

“Sometimes you can be a real dick,” she declares.

“I know,” he admits, and runs his palm along her leg. From the top of her hip to her ankle and back up again. Resting it on the side of her thigh.

“Try not and let Mark get to you, okay? He's going to try and get under your skin and irritate the shit out of you.”

“Too late. He's already done that. The second he showed up at our house. Who does that, anyway? What ex husband would show up at the place his ex wife lives at with her new husband? That's just...fucked.”

“He's not right in the head. He never has been. And he tries to justify his bullshit with the most ridiculous reasons. He's a narcissist, I told you that. And he'll try gaslighting you every change he gets.”

“I will honestly punch him in the throat.”

“Some times I wish you would. I'd love to see it, actually. I'd love to see you just lose your shit on him. I'm honestly surprised you haven't. Considering how protective you are of me and that I know what your temper is like.”

“I came really close when he showed up tonight. He just would not shut the fuck up.”

“Do I want to know what he said to you? To get you this worked up?”

“No. No you don't. And I wouldn't tell you anyway. It was just a bunch of shit. Like you said, trying to get under my skin.”

“Was it about me?”

“Some of it.”

“What did he say?”

“Like I said, a bunch of shit. I think he just likes to hear himself talk.”

“You think?” she laughs. “Don't let him to get you, Tyler. He thinks he's more important than he actually is. He's the past. You're the right here and now. And the future. That's probably what really burns his ass. He just wants you to be as miserable as he is.”

“You think he'd be happy. He got away from your cooking.”

“You're such an asshole,” she mutters, then giggles when he pinches and tickles the back of her thigh. “I've kept you and your children alive for five and a half years. I must be doing something right. Promise me you won't let Mark get to you. That you'll just ignore him and not even engage. Because as much as I'd love to see you kick his ass...”

“He's a dick head.”

“I know. But just be the bigger man and ignore him. He's just not worth it, Tyler.”

“He deserves to have his ass handed to him for what he did to you.”

“Well let karma work that out. I know it fills you with blinding rage when you think about the things I told you...”

“He beat the shit out of you More than once.”

“...but he's not worth it,” she insists. “And believe me, I love you so much for wanting to defend my honour and it's kind of a turn on that you'd literally beat the shit out of someone for me. But just let it go. It's a long time ago. None of that matters any more.”

“It matters to me. You're my wife.”

“But I wasn't back then.”

“That doesn't make a difference. I still know what he did to you. You're my wife now. It happened to you. So it matters.”

“You are so stubborn,” she sighs. 

“It reminds me of my dad,” he admits. “Of the things he used to do to my mom. I used to hear it, Esme. He would beat the shit out of her when he thought I was asleep. I was just a little kid. And when I got older, he would do it right in front of me. It didn't matter any more, I guess. Or maybe he thought I needed to see it because he thought that's how women should be treated and I needed to learn.”

She pulls back to look at him; running her hand through his hair, pushing it away from his forehead. His eyes are dark and downcast, brow furrowed. And her fingers gently stroke his face; pressing into his temples, running along his cheeks and under his eyes, over his chin. A touch that is so tender and so comforting it nearly brings tears to his eyes. 

“And then when she died, he made me his favourite punching bag. I always told myself that when I got older, when I got bigger and stronger, I'd beat the shit out of him. More for her than for myself. I wanted revenge for her. I wanted him to pay for what he did.”

“But you never did it. You were the bigger man, Tyler. By not doing it, you showed that he couldn't drag you down to his level. You showed him that he couldn't break you down. You showed him what a real man is like.”

“A real man,” he scoffs. “You mean one that drags his wife into bullshit like this?”

“A real man that loves his wife and his children and isn't afraid to tell them or show them. I don't want you to be any way else. I love the way you are. The way you are with me. The way you are with your kids. Our kids. You're nothing like him.”

“I'll put a gun in my mouth if I ever become like him,” he declares. “If I ever lost it to that point...where I hit you...I'd put a bullet in my brain. I couldn't live with myself if I ever did anything like that to you.”

She holds his face in her hands, kisses him softly.

“He deserves to pay. For what he did to you.”

“That's not up to you, Tyler. It will catch up to him. Eventually. But I don't want you be the one that does it. Promise me you won't.. That you won't let him get you to that point. He's just not worth it.”

“But you deserve that. Revenge.”

“Remember when I thought the same thing? When I thought Farhad should pay for what he did to you?”

He frowns. “That's not the same thing.”

“I thought he deserved to pay for what he did. For what he did to you. For what he did to us. And I was willing to go to any length to get back at him. And you tried to talk me out of it, remember? And I didn't listen and look what happened. Or look what could have happened.”

“He was a kid.”

“Who shot you in the throat and nearly killed you. Sometimes I wish I had have done it. Killed him on that bridge. It would have given me some sense of peace. Knowing that someone at least paid for what they did to you. But you were the one that tried to talk me out of it. You said it would only make things worse. And that's what I'm saying to you right now. Just leave it alone, Tyler. Please. It's just not worth it. He's not worth it.”

He opens his mouth to speak, but she silences him with a kiss.

“Promise me,” she demands. “That you'll let this go.”

He runs his hand over her thigh and down onto the back of her calf. “I promise.”

“Good,” she smiles, and then grabs a hold of his hand and moves it back up to her thigh. “Now...” she kisses him, then pulls back to skim the tip of her tongue over his top lip. “...make love to me again. We have a baby to make.”

*****

His mouth is soft. Torturous. Moving at a snail's pace along her leg, Beginning at the top of her foot and then travelling along the side of her ankle and calf. Soft kisses, gentle nibbles, soothing flicks and presses of the tongue. His beard rough against her skin; the scraping and the scratching only heightening the sensations currently surging through her body. Every nerve ending feels as if it is on fire; goosebumps invading every inch of her skin, her stomach fluttering in anticipation, heart hammering in her chest. His breath is warm against her skin and she can feel those rough callouses on his palms as his hands glide up the back of her legs. And when he reaches the inside of her thigh, he bites down on the supple flesh; hard enough to break the skin and leave a perfect impression of his teeth. Clearly marking her as his.

“Tyler...” she whimpers, clutching at his shoulders and the back of his head, fingers tangling in his hair, her way of encouraging him to move further up her body. It's a most delicious form of punishment; body being teased and taunted until it's almost impossible to endure. He's a master at this; playing with her body and all of her senses in that languid, lazy pace. Worshipping every inch of her. Taking his time as mouth and hands leave no inch unexplored. 

Their second night in Dhaka he'd done the same thing; his hands taking in every possible curve and dip and hidden spot that her body had to offer. Spending an hour with his face between her thighs, using his mouth and fingers to bring about orgasm after orgasm, until tears were spilling down her face and she couldn't take any more. And then he'd fucked her. With long, deep, powerful strokes that she'd felt for two days afterwards. 

His mouth moves higher; kisses being pressed in the juncture where her left hip meets her groin, running the tip of his tongue along the crease. Reaching up to pull her hands away from his hair as she once again tries to direct him to where she is hot and wet and ready for him. “Stop,” he demands when she tries to grab a hold of him once more. His eyes locked on hers, mouth hovering on her pubic bone. “I'm in charge here.”

“Please...” her hips arch up towards him, and she gives a frustrated cry when he places a forearm across her stomach to keep her pinned to the bed. “...Tyler...stop...stop teasing me...”

He ignores her, and captures both of her wrists in his free hand, roughly pressing them into the mattress beside her. Feathery kisses placed along the width of her pubic bone, biting at each hip, then moving just a little bit higher. Lips and tongue travelling along her stomach and up to her navel; his hair falling forward and tickling her bare skin, tongue delving into her navel and then pulling back to blow a steady stream of air onto the moistened spot.

“Shit...” she whimpers, lifting her head form the bed in order to look down at him. “...stop...you need to stop...”

“Like stop entirely or...”

“You know what I fucking mean!” she cries, and then bites into her bottom lip as his tongue slides downwards, over the top of her mound, a smirk tugging at his lips and his eyes sparkling mischievously as his mouth hovers above the spot where she so desperately wants i.

“Don't be a fucking asshole!” she snaps.

“That's not nice,” he teases. “Why would you talk like that to the guy that's just about to eat your pussy? What if I just stop right now? If you're going to be an ungrateful brat...”

Her eyes narrow. “You're evil.”

“You need to behave yourself, love. I'm holding all the cards here. I've got all the power. I could just stop right now.”

“You wouldn't.”

He rests his chin on her thigh, that smirk growing wider as he stares at her.

“Don't be such a bastard!” she huffs. 

“I thought you liked playing these little games. I thought you liked when I was in charge.”

“Not like this.”

“I can do this all night. I can just sit here. Sit here and wait for you to beg. That's kind of hot, actually. Thinking about you begging for it.”

“I will kill you in your sleep.”

“You're not helping your case, love. The more you challenge me, the longer the wait is going to be. You need to learn how to behave yourself to get what you want.”

“Tyler...” she frowns. “...I swear to God...if you don't knock this shit off...”

“Tell me...” he returns to that crease between her hip and her groin. Sucking, licking, nibbling. “...tell me what you want.”

“You know what I want.”

“I like it when you tell me. It's a turn on. Hearing you say it.”

“I'm not going to say it.”

“Why?” he chuckles against the inside of her thigh, “What's the issue with saying it? After five years you still can't do it? You still can't tell me to eat you out?”

“It's embarrassing.”

“How? We've been together five and a half years. We've done some kinky and crazy dirty shit to each other. With each other. You're actually embarrassed about that? It embarrasses you tell your husband to go down on you?”

“Please...” she begs. “...stop doing this!”

“It's okay,” the kisses he places across her pubic bone are gentle. Tender. Reassuring. “Don't be embarrassed. You don't need to ever be embarrassed with me. Tell me...” he encourages. “...tell me what you want.”

“I want...” she hesitates.

“It's okay,” his voice is soft. Comforting. As are those blue eyes that look up at her. “It's okay, Esme. Tell me.”

“I want you to go down on me,” she finally manages, a blush creeping into her cheeks. “I want you to make me come. With your tongue. Your fingers.”

“That's my girl,” he praises, and once more places his forearm across her stomach to hold her in place. His hair tickling the insides of her thighs as he finally dips his head down between them. “You're so wet, baby,” he says, revelling in the moisture that drips out of her, the smell of her. “All this for me?”

“Only for you,” she confirms. “Only for you, Tyler.”

He finally gives her what she wants. His tongue pushing through the folds and coming in contact with her clit. A long, slow lick that has a strangled cry escaping from her lips, eyes closing, head falling back into her pillow. There's no more teasing. No more holding back. He knows her body so well; knows exactly what she likes and exactly what to do to drive her crazy. And he lets go of her hands, slipping two fingers inside of her. Lips attached to her clit, sucking at it as his fingers work their magic. Slow, languid strokes. Pressing them in as far as they can possibly go. Encouraged by the noises she makes; the groans and the sighs and the soft cries. Making her cry out when a third finger joins in and he increases the speed and power behind them. Tongue circling and pressing against her clit. Until he feels her begin to tremble and her hands reach for his hair once more. He allows it this time; letting her yank and twist at those longer strands as his mouth and his fingers bring her to a powerful completion. His name exploding from her lips in a scream.

He removes his fingers, licking the fluid off of them before pressing a kiss to each of her inner thighs and the moving up her body; his weight supported on his hands. Kissing her long and deep, letting her taste her own juices on his lips and tongue, and continuing to press small, feathery pecks to her mouth while she comes down from her high. Hoovering over her, forehead pressed against her, until her body stops trembling and she opens her eyes. 

“I feel like I should say thank you,” she says, and then giggles, and then raises her head to kiss him. “Do you want me to...”

He knows what she's offering. And that isn't what he wants. At least not right now. “Later,” he says, and then uses gentle hands to spread her thighs apart, kneeling between them. “You are so beautiful,” he praises. “You are so beautiful and I'm the luckiest guy in the fucking world.”

“You're not too hard to look yourself,” she says, her eyes dark and lustful as she takes in his naked form. The broad shoulders and chest, that tattoos and the scars, the thin sheen of sweat the glistens on his skin. 

He takes hold of her hips and pulls her towards him, so her splayed thighs rest on top of his. Holding on leg behind the knee, wrapping his other hand around his cock and guiding it towards her entrance. Watching her expression when he presses into her, the way she cries out and closes her eyes and turns her face to the side. “Look at me....” he says, two gentle fingers against her cheek, turning her face towards him. “...baby...look at me...I want you to look at me...”

She obliges. Breathing ragged. Cheeks flushed.

“Don't ever be embarrassed,” he says. “Ever. Not with me.”

“I can't help it. I'm not the same person I was five and a half years ago.”

“Neither am I.”

“I've gained weight,” she frets. “My butt is bigger. My hips are wider.”

“You've had babies. My babies.”

“And what happens when I get pregnant again? When I get fat again? If I can't lose the weight after? If I never go back to looking like I do. When you'll want someone else that does look like I used to.”

“Baby...stop...you're beautiful...” he drops his head to press a series of kisses to her collarbone. “...you are so beautiful and I love you so much and I'm never going to stop. I don't want anyone else. For the rest of my life. Just you.”

“Really?” 

Tyler nods, then decides to change his approach. This isn't what she needs right now; a quick and hard fuck. She needs to feel close to him. She needs to feel that the words he is saying are true. She needs to be shown that they're true. He kisses her; gathering her into his arms, never pulling out of her as he rolls over onto her side. Their tongues moving slow and undemanding against each other, her breasts pressed against his chest, his hand moving from her hip, travelling down the side of her thigh and around to the back of her knee. Bringing her leg up to drape over his hip. And she gasps into his mouth as he presses into her with one fluid, strong stroke.

She clings to him as he makes love to her. Her arms tightly wound around his neck, her lips against his ear. And he presses kisses over her shoulders and her collarbone; the rough and dirty talk replaced with much sweeter, loving words. About how much he adores her. Worships her. How good it feels to be inside of her. How he will never....ever...get tired of that feeling. That he loves her. That he always will. Until the day he dies.

He only hopes that day isn't hiding around the next corner.


	27. Chapter 27

The dream is always the same. He's clad in his tactical gear, full armed, cautiously creeping down a narrow, dimly lit hallway. Debris snapping and popping under the soles of his boots. All of his senses on high alert. The near deafening pounding of his own heart, a maddening, agonizing pulsating in his brain, sweat beading across his forehead, trickling down his temples, gathering at the back of his neck. He can hear her; crying, speaking through sobs, calling out to him. Begging for him to help her. To find her.

“I'm right here, Tyler. Why can't you see me? What can't you find me?”

With each door he kicks in, he finds an empty room behind it. Her voice growing faint; further away when though he knows he should be getting closer. Panic sets in. Time is running out. The clock is ticking: an excruciating sound, like an amplified, continuous drip of a leaky faucet. And with each step he takes, the hallway becomes even longer. Darker. 

She continues to call for him; begging for help. And her tone becomes more urgent. Desperate. Full of terror. The pleading is unbearable. Heartbreaking. Yet despite his best efforts...the doors he busts down...the rooms searched...he still can't find her. The closer he gets, the further she becomes out of reach. Until she lets out out a single blood curdling scream.

And then silence.

He jerks awake, bolting into a sit. The dream always ends the same. He never finds her despite his best efforts. Just that one scream and then nothing. Just darkness. The feeling of immense loss and guilt. 

His chest is painfully tight and he struggles to catch his breath. His entire body covered in sweat. He's nauseous. Dizzy. The all too common signs of a panic attack. In the past two years they've been few and far between, but within the last week they'd shown signs of returning. The moment that he'd had the dream again -the first in several months- he'd known the attacks were inevitable. And he curses himself being weak. 

For being damaged.

In the top drawer of the nightstand is a wide array of prescription meds; drugs he needs just to make it through the day. Anti-inflammatories for the arthritis, hard core pain relievers, Ativan for the anxiety. The latter is the one that he reaches for, struggling to open the bottle with trembling hand; resorting to using his teeth to twist open the lid and then dumping half a dozen of the pills into his mouth. Waiting for them to fully dissolve under his tongue before dropping the bottle back into the drawer. 

It takes several minutes to even begin to feel any effects, and he sits on the edge of the bed, bare feet planted firmly on the floor. Desperately needing to feel ground. An attachment to the here and now. The reminder that it had all in fact just been big, horrible dream. His eyes are closed as he listens to her soft, rhythmic breathing behind him. It's comforting; being able to hear her, being able to confirm...with all certainty...that she is right here with him, safe and sound. In the same position he always finds her when he wakes up in the middle of the night: flat on her stomach with all the blankets pulled over her head and only her toes poking out at the bottom.

His knees audibly cracks as he stands. A grimace on his face as he fetches a bottle of water from the mini bar across the door, downing half as he stands in front of the sliding glass door. The sun is just starting to appear on the horizon; hues of pink and gold painting the sky. In several hours he will be meeting Michael McMann. Under the guise of updating him on where they stand on actually getting the information they need to even attempt an extraction. He'll try to break him. Coerce him or threaten him into coughing up that information that Tyler knows for certain the man is holding back. There's so much he isn't telling him; secrets that he isn't ready to share, confessions he isn't ready to give. Time is running out. It's been two weeks since those kids were taken. Fourteen days since they were snatched from the warmth and security of their own beds. Hours of agonizing torture, fear, and pain that they'd had to endure. The longer time drags on, the less likely they will be found alive. He knows that. He knows how the game is played. The more time that passes where the captors don't get what they want, the less time those kids have on earth.

He journeys into the bathroom; splashing cold water on his face, dragging wet hands through his hair as he heads back out into the sleeping quarters, once more perching himself upon the edge of the bed. The ache is in chest is starting to subside. He can breathe normally again. The nausea and the dizziness finally dissipating.  
“Tyler?” her voice is soft and groggy behind him, and her hears the rustle of the sheets as she rolls over onto her side. Feels her hand as she presses it against the small of his back. “What's wrong? Are you okay?”

“I'm fine,” he assures her.

“Pain?” she inquires, and he nods. 

“Just my shoulder,” he lies. “Must have fallen asleep on it the wrong way.”

The mattress dips slightly as she moves again; and through the reflection in the window, he watches as she pushes her messy hair away from her face and tucks it behind her ears, yawning loudly as she waddles on her knees towards him. Her lips pressing against the nape of his neck, her fingers and thumbs digging into his shoulders. She knows all of the spots on his body; five and a half years is more than enough time to commit them all to memory. Those places that hurt the most and find the most relief when she manipulates and massages them. And the ones that drive him absolutely insane with want and need.

“You should be asleep,” he says, eyes closing one more, head falling forward as she digs her thumbs into his trap muscles. 

“So should you,” she counters. “Just your shoulder?”

He nods. 

“I guess that can be considering a good night,” she says, as those hands work at getting out all the knots and tension. His muscles painfully tight under her fingers. The side effect of always carrying the weight of others' burdens.

“I guess,” he agrees, and groans...a mixture of both relief and pain...when she hits a particularly tender spot. It's agonizing but soothing at the same time; the way the knots come undone and warmth spreads through the muscles as they slowly relax. 

“This has to end,” she says, as her hands now travel across his shoulders. Movements slow, thumbs doing all the work. “You have to stop doing this to yourself, Tyler. You have to stop worrying about complete strangers and their problems. You have to stop taking on so much. There are other people, you know. Other mercenaries. You don't have to be the one that Nik relies on all the time.”

“This wasn't really Nik's call. He came to me, remember? He asked for my help.”

“You should have told him to fuck himself. To find someone else. You'd just gotten home. You should have just said no.”

“What's the saying? Hindsight is twenty-twenty? It's too late to worry about now. I'm here. I took the job on. There's nothing I can do about it now.” 

“We can go home. We can get on the first available flight and just get the hell out of here. We can go home to our kids and have a normal life. Or whatever kind of normal we can come up with. Wouldn't that be nice? To have some semblance of normal? Where we can just enjoy being married and raising kids together? Where we're actually together instead of spending so much time apart?”

“This isn't about not wanting that. About not wanting to be with you or my kids. You know that. He asked for my help. I said I would do this.”

“That was before you knew how screwed up it actually is. When you thought it was just going to be as simple as getting the wife and getting the hell out of there. That was before all this other bullshit. It's gone way beyond anything like that now, Tyler. So far beyond it. It was bad enough when it was just the IRA. Now all of this stuff has come to light...”

“We're too far into this now. We're too deep. We can't back out now. And you know it.”

“We can. We can just say fuck it and leave. Is it really worth it, Tyler? Is it really worth risking everything? I know it's kids. And I know that makes you want to do this even more. You think you wouldn't be able to live with yourself if you just leave them there.”

“I wouldn't be able to. Because every time I look at my own kids, I'd think about the ones I left behind to die.”

“You don't know if that's going to happen,” she gently argues, concentrating now on his surgically repaired shoulder. “This could all be just a bunch of bullshit. Revenge. Wife versus husband. You don't know if she's really going to escalate this. There's no way she's that evil. That any mother...whether they carried those babies inside of them or not...would be that big of a monster. Why not just send someone else in? Just to get her. Make her talk. Make her tell them where the kids are.”

“You've seen the pictures. You've seen what she's told other people to do. To her kids. So she is a monster. Do you really think she would have gone this far if she didn't intend on taking it the entire way? After what you've seen, what you know about her family, do you honestly think she won't kill those kids? Or have them killed?”

Esme sighs.

“There's no turning back. There's no getting out of this. I know it. You know it.”

“I'm just...” her voice shakes. “...I'm just so fucking sick of this. I'm sick of seeing you do this. Seeing you walk out the door and having no guarantee you're going to walk back in.”

“That can happen any time. I can walk out the door and get hit by a truck crossing the street.”

“That would be a freak accident. Not you putting yourself at risk. Not you willingly sacrificing yourself for other people. People who don't even give a shit if you live or die. I need this to end, Tyler. I need this life to end. I am just so sick of it. I'm sick of worrying about you constantly. I'm sick of trying to hold everything together when it feels like it is all falling apart. Of trying to explain to your kids where you are and if you're coming back.”

“You knew what you were getting into,” he reminds her. 

“No. I didn't. You put this on me, remember? You went back to the job all on your own. You made the decision for the both of us. You didn't even talk to me about it. I was pregnant. With your sons. I was six months pregnant and having issues with them and you took it upon yourself to get back into the game. And don't...” she presses extra hard into the painful spot at the bottom of his shoulder blade. “...don't you dare even throw 'we needed the money' into this. You took it for granted that I'd be okay with it.”

“Esme...” he sighs. “...I do not want to fight.”

“I'm not fighting”! She snaps, then bites down on her bottom lip in an attempt to control her temper. “I am not fighting. You had your chance to talk. About the things that you're worried about. About the things that are scaring you. Well now I need the chance. I need you to listen to me. I don't need excuses. I don't need you arguing with me. I don't need you trying to invalidate how I feel just because it makes you feel uncomfortable to hear it.”

“I don't do that. I don't...”

“You do,” she insists. “And I know you don't mean it. I know you don't even realize what you're saying it and how it makes me feel. But I need you to listen, Tyler,” her hands rest on his shoulders as she presses her face into the back of his head. “...please...I just need you to hear me.”

The pain in her voice is heartbreaking. Eating away to his very soul. “Okay,” he says. “Tell me. Talk to me. Let me hear you. Help me hear you.”

“I am so angry at you,” she admits. “And I don't want to be angry at you. That's the last thing I want. Because I don't want you walking out the door and the last thing you remember is me being pissed off. I don't want the last thing I ever say to you being something I said while I was angry. I don't want that on my mind for the rest of my life. That I let you walk out the door thinking I hated you.”  
He simply nods, watching her reflection in the glass. The tears that pool in her eyes, the way her lower lip quivers. And he can hear her shaky breaths and the way her hands tremble as they rest on his shoulders. She needs this. This moment. A chance to finally unload everything that's been weighing her down for the past five and a half years. And she deserves it. After everything she'd given up for him. After having her life so drastically altered. After everything she'd seen that day on the Sultana Kamal Bridge.

Love is beautiful. But it's also painful as hell. 

“You never should have done what you did,” she continues. “When you decided to go back to the job without at least telling me about it. I should have been able to at least try and reason with you. I wouldn't have been able to talk you out of it, but you should have at least given me the chance to try. And you know made it worse? It was when you did it. When I'm pregnant with your twin boys and I'm going through hell trying to keep them alive inside of me. When I needed you to stay home. I needed you there. I needed you with me. I didn't just have babies inside of me. I had Millie to worry about too. And she was still practically a baby! You left, Tyler. You made a huge decision that impacted all of us and you left two days later! Like what the fuck?! Of all the times I needed you...well and truly needed you...you took off and you were thousands of miles away. And I was terrified you were never coming back and I'd be stuck raising three kids on my own. That I'd have to have those babies all by myself and you'd never seen even get to meet them or see Millie again. She would never have remembered you. She was too young.”

He remains silent, but brings his hands up to rest on hers. 

“And I hate myself for feeling all of that. For being so angry with you. For still holding onto it. But this....all of this bullshit...it's just digging it all up and it's going to kill me if I keep it inside. And I'm not doing this to hurt you. I'm not saying these things to hurt you, Tyler.”

“I know,” he assures her, his fingers brushing against hers. 

“And I hate that I'm so self conscious all the time. About you and Nik.”

“I already told you...”

“I know it's in the past. I know it wasn't serious. At least on your end of things. But at the same time, you're around her all the time. Sometimes you spend more time with her than you do with me. And I worry that maybe...I don't know...that maybe you'll feel something for her and you'll be thousands of miles away and lonely and you won't be able to stop. Or you won't want to stop.”

“Esme...” he laces their fingers together, brings them to his mouth and presses a kiss to the inside of her wrist. “...listen to me. That is never going to happen. I feel nothing for her. She's my friend. My boss. That's all. I don't want her. I only want you. For the rest of my life.”

“How can you know that? How can you know for sure?”

“Do you know for sure that you don't want to be with anyone else? What about your ex? He's coming around now. How do you know for sure that you won't turn around one day and want to be with him?”

“Because I don't want anyone else. I only want you. That's never going to change.”

“Exactly. In the same way it's never going to change for me. This is it for me. You're it for me. And you need to trust when I say that. Okay? Just trust me. Can you do that?”

She nods. 

“What else?” he asks. “You were on a roll there.”

“Don't make me feel bad,” she pleads, as she rests her chin on his shoulder. “It's hard enough saying all of this without you making me feel bad about it.”

“I'm not trying to make you feel bad. There's things you need to say and they're the things I need to hear. Whether I like hearing them or not.”

“I want you take that job. The one Nik offered you. I know I'll never convince you to get out of the job all together. It's a lost cause. But if you take this offer, you're home more. There's way less danger. You heard what Nik said. That you'd only have to go out in the field if you were desperately needed. And I feel so much better if that was the case. If you just went to work and came home all in the same day. And so would the kids. They love having you home. I love having you home. Being able to sleep in the same bed with you every night. And if we're going to have another baby, I need you home. Four is hard enough. But five? What if it turns into six? I mean, we weren't expecting twins the first time either.”

“Yeah...” he chuckles. “...that was a little...unexpected.”

“I thought you were going to pass out,” she recalls. “Your face went so white. I was worried someone would have to pick you up off the floor.”

“We went in there expecting one. We ended up seeing two. Of everything. I was a little...”

“Spooked?”

“Yeah...” he grins. “....spooked.”

“And then you got over it and you spent eight months with that goofy ass grin on your face. So proud of yourself for what you'd done. Like it was some huge feat and not just five minutes you had to spare,” she's grinning as she presses a kiss to his cheek.

“Would you piss off with this five minutes? When has it ever lasted only five minutes?”

“Okay. So maybe it was ten minutes,” she teases.

He snorts.

“There's been times you've been drunk and it's only been ten. Fifteen at the most. I don't know what the big deal is. That's about thirteen minutes more than my ex on his best night.”

“Jesus Christ...” he shakes his head. “...there's some things I don't need to know.”

“I thought that would make you happy. Knowing he's a two pump chump and you can go all night if I'd let you.”

“You know what would make me happy? If he'd fuck off and go back to the states and I never have to see him again.”

“I'm sorry,” she frowns. “That just blew up in my face. That is not what he agreed to. He was supposed to send someone. Not show up himself. I'll find a way to keep him away from you. More for his own good than yours. Just so you don't snap and beat the shit out of him. Which....I agree...he deserves,” she presses a kiss to the side of his neck, lips against that thick scar left behind from Dhaka. It's not as hard for her anymore; seeing it. The reminder no longer as harsh. Not bringing back the same level of terror that it once did. 

Her hand is on his shoulder as she moves to his side, curling an arm around his waist, resting her chin against his upper arm. “I don't want you going alone. To see McMann.”

“I don't have a choice. Who would I take with me? Yaz? He was made too. Someone will recognize him. And you can't tag along because if someone sees us together....”

She sighs heavily, and he drop a kiss on the top of her head and wraps his around her shoulders, drawing her tight against him. 

“It'll be okay,” he assures her. 

“How do you know that he isn't on this? That this is really isn't some big game to get you alone? That this isn't tied to you in some way? That he isn't out for revenge?”

“I have zero ties to him. Or his wife. Or the IRA. Not even remote ties. I had no idea who the hell he was until now. And I'd remember that. If I ever crossed paths with him on the job.”

“Well if it happened before Dhaka and there's other things you forgot....”

“I forgot how to hold a fork and how to brush my own teeth. I forgot what happened in the last ten minutes on bridge. I don't forget other things. I'm not brain damaged.”

There'd been a fear of that. That the loss of blood and lack of oxygen during the times he had flat line d in the operating room could lead to issues. Problems with fine motor skills. Short term memory. A regression with cognitive skills. And for a few months afterwards he'd struggled to even do the simple things. Near constant tremors in his hands, weakness on the left side. Frustrated with that he considered a lack of progress. Wanting desperately to even half the man that he was before. Even a fraction of that man. The one that Esme had started to fall in love with in that dirty hotel room in Dhaka.

“I know that. And I'm not saying you are. Just maybe some things aren't as clear as they used to be. Maybe you did cross paths with him somewhere. Even briefly. Or maybe he knows you from someone else you pissed off. But Tyler...” she sighs, kisses his shoulder. “...I don't trust him. And I don't think you do either.”

“I don't. But I don't have much of a choice on how to handle this, do I. I can't take you along because if we're seen together, that totally fucks everything up. I can't take Yaz because he'll be recognized. I have to do this alone. And I know you don't think I can't handle this...”

“I never said that, Tyler. I never even insinuated that. But if this is a trap...if he has five or ten or even more guys waiting...you won't stand much of a chance. There has to be someone that can help. That can just keep an eye on things.”

“I'll be fine,” he insists, and turns his face into hers, lips against her cheek. “I promise you. I'll be fine.”

“I need you to come back to me, Tyler Rake. I need you. I need my husband. My kids need their father.”

“I know,” he says, placing a hand alongside the side of her face and turning her head towards him. “It's going to be okay,” he assures her, covering her lips with his in long, soft kiss. Then rests his forehead against hers. “You need to trust me. I know what I'm doing.”

“It's not you I don't trust. It's him. Just be careful, okay? Don't let your guard down. Not for one second. Don't even start to trust him because the second you start to trust him...”

He silences her with a kiss. Even longer this time. More passion to it. His fingers pressing into her cheek. “I know what I'm doing,” he insists. “Not a rookie, remember?”

“No. You're not,” she agrees. “But you are my husband. You are the love of my life. The father of my kids. And believe it or not, I don't want anything happening to you. Remember that whole 'until death do us part' stuff? I meant when we were old and gray and we've had a long life together and we got to have grand-kids and maybe even great grand-kids. Because five and a half years is not enough. Not even close to it.”

****

“Hello?” that tiny voice answers the phone on the third ring. In the background he can hear the familiar signs of early morning life in the Rake house: the twins bickering, the baby shrieking and babbling, the dog barking. It's hectic and chaotic, but it's his hectic and chaotic. 

And despite the numerous times he'd often bitch and moan about the level of noise and the inability to even get one day to sleep in, he misses it. He misses those little things that come with having a family to take care of and provide for. The sound of the kids' feet pounding up the stairs as they raced to see who would beat getting to wake him up first. The way those little bodies would all jump on the bed and he'd be showered with hugs and kisses before the kids would insist on the morning ritual of rough housing and tickle fights. The breakfasts he would make, the lunches and snacks he'd prepare, the backpacks he'd put together for the day, those drives into town when all three of the older ones would want the music as loud as they could stand it, windows down so they could stick their arms out and feel the wind against their palms. The weekends when the entire family would pile into one bed and they'd all enjoy some quiet, lazy times together. When he would lie back and marvel about how far he's actually come; the roads he'd had to travel, the battles he'd fought, all the blood, sweat and tears he'd shed just to get where he is. 

“Hey,” he greets. “How goes it?”

“Daddy”! Millie shrieks, and soon the twins are gathered around the phone and all three are trying to talk at the same time. Excited tales about everything they've been up to in the twelve hours that have passed since the last time he called home to check on things. Sparing no detail as they talk about going on a hike and picnic with Ovi and Chloe, going into the town for ice cream and pizza with Auntie Nik, grandma letting them sleep in a tent in the backyard (with her supervising, of course). 

Tears prick his eyes and emotion chokes at him. The sounds of their voices -so thrilled to be hearing from him-, the expressions he imagines on their little faces, how pure and innocent they are. They don't question why Nik is there. Why there's armed guards walking the perimeters and sleeping in the living room. None of that matters to them. All they want is to talk to him, to hear his voice, to make sure that he's okay.

“I love you guys,” he says, clearing his throat noisily, taking a sip of coffee from the carry out cup sitting in the SUV's drink holder. “I love you guys so much.” He never thought he could love that much. That unconditional love that is so overwhelming and so all consuming that sometimes it's physically painful.

“I love you, daddy!” the twins call back in unison, and then are spirited away from the phone by a grandma anxious to keep them on a routine. 

“I miss you daddy,” Millie says. “I miss you lots.”

He grins. “How much is lots?”

“Lots and lots. Lots and lots times one billion.”

“That's a lot. I miss you lots and lots too. Lots and lots times two billion.”

She giggles at that. “I'm sorry, daddy. I didn't mean what I said. I didn't mean to be a bad girl. When I said that I hate you.”

“You weren't being a bad girl. You were just angry. You were mad at me because I broke my promise. It's okay, Millie.”

“You're not mad at me?”

“I was never mad at you.”

“You don't hate me?”

“I could never hate you. Ever. You were just angry at me. People say things when they're angry. I say a lot of things I don't mean when I'm upset. But it doesn't mean I mean to say them.”

“I didn't mean what I said,” she sounds close to tears. “When I said never to come home. Because I miss you and I wish you were coming home right now. I wish you were already home. So you could tuck me in and read me bed time stories and make me pancakes with bananas on them and do my hair for me.”

Sniffling noisily, he reaches under his sunglasses to clear away the tears that now nestle on his cheeks. “I wish I was home right now too. So we could do all those things together. And we could camp out in the backyard and look for turtles and frogs in the creek. And go for ice cream. Lots and lots of ice cream.”

“Bubblegum ice cream?”

“You're going to get tired of that one day.”

“Never,” she declares. “Did you find the kids yet? The little girl and the little boy?”

“Not yet, baby girl. But I'm close.”

“Are you going to catch the bad guys? Are you going to hurt them?”

“Only if I have to. I have to get the kids out. That's all that matters.”

“So you can get them home to their mommy and their daddy?”

“Yup. That's exactly it.”

“You'd come and look for me right, daddy? If someone took me?”

“In a heartbeat. Nothing would stop me from looking for you. And I'd find you. You know that, yeah?”

“I know you would.”

“That's never going to happen though,” he assures her. “No one is ever going to take you. You don't have to worry about that. No bad guys are going to get to you. Or your brothers. Okay? I promise you. Nothing like that is ever going to happen.”

“To mommy either? I don't want mommy going missing either.”

“Your mommy is safe, I promise. She's safe here with me. And we'll both be home soon.”

“How soon?”

“As soon as I find those kids and take them home. As soon as I do that, mommy and I will be home. And then we can do all the things that I promised we'd do the last time I got home. And even more stuff.”

“You promise?”

“I promise. I know you can't see it, but you put up your baby finger on the phone and I'll put mine on my phone and we'll do a pinky promise. Sound good?”

“Sounds good,” she agrees. “Now? Do it now?”

“Do it now,” he says, and presses his baby finger against the phone screen. 

“Pinky promise!” Millie exclaims, and then giggles. “I love you, daddy. I love you bunches. Tons of bunches.”

“I love you too. You be good, okay? No more beating up your brother. On any of your brothers.”

“He deserved it.”

Tyler grins. “Did he? Because from what I heard, you just went off on him for no reason and kicked the shit out of him.”

“That's a bad word,” she whispers. “Do you want me to put a quarter in the swear jar?”

“Put your whole allowance in. I've been saying a lot of bad words lately.”

“That's not good, daddy. You shouldn't say bad words either! But he did deserve it. Tyler deserves to get his ass beat.”

“Amelia...”

“His butt beat, I mean. He was looking at me funny.”

“That's not a reason to beat up your brother. To beat up anyone. I don't want to get any phone calls about fights, okay? If he looks at you funny...”

“I'll tell him he's ugly and smells funny.”

“You and him look almost exactly alike, so...”

“He does smell funny though. All boys smell funny. Even you daddy. When you get upstairs from the gym.”

“One day you'll meet a boy that won't smell,” he promises.

“As if! I'm staying single. Forever.”

“I thought you wanted a husband and eight kids?”

“Not anymore. I'm becoming a feminish.”

He can't help but laugh. “It's feminist.”

“However you say it, that's what I'm becoming. I don't need no man. Auntie Nik says there's a lot of really strong and beautiful women that don't have men and don't need them. Mommy is definitely not a feminist.”

“Well not by those standards she's not.” Through the rear view mirror he watches as a dark gray sedan pulls up behind him. The driver giving him a small nod in greeting before killing the ignition and climbing out from behind the wheel. “I have to go, Millie. I've got to start looking for those kids. I'll call later okay?”

“Okay, daddy. I hope you find them.”

“I hope so too. I love you. Tell your brothers I love them. That mommy does too.”

“I will,” she promises, and then disconnects the call.

The passenger door pops open just as Tyler slips his cell phone into the side pocket of his pants, not speaking as the other man climbs in and does up his seat belt.

“You're the last person I expected to hear from,” Mark smirks. “We didn't exactly leave things on good terms. What's going on?”

It's time, Tyler thinks. Time to swallow your pride.

“I need your help.”


	28. Chapter 28

The phone call comes in shortly before one pm; the SAT system easily tracing the number back to the Slainte pub. At first she just blankly stares at the digits and the name on the screen, not having the energy or the patience to deal with whatever bullshit would greet her the moment she answers. She's in a 'mood'. Rapidly switching from the lowest of lows to the highest of highs; either dissolving into tears at the drop of a hat or frantically cleaning the room and organizing paper work and files on the lap top. Torn between wanting to curl up in bed and stay there for the entire day, and desperately wanting something...anything...to keep her mind occupied. She's nauseous. Dizzy. A pounding headache that sits at the base of her skull and above her eyes. 

Stress. Always the same old, same old when her nerves are shot. The same symptoms she suffers with for days when Tyler walks out of the house for a job. Incessant worry accompanied by crippling fear and the deepest and darkest recesses of depression. But at home she is able to beat it; focusing on the kids, concentrating on their needs, their laughter and their smiles and all of their hugs and their kisses making it all a bit easier to handle.

The SAT phone beeps. Indicating a text message. Groaning loudly in protest, she throws off the comforter as she lays on her stomach in the middle of the bed, propping herself up on one elbow as she reaches out for the offending object. 

You missed a call. Nik's message reads. Everything okay?

Part of her wants to tell Nik to fuck off and leave her alone. That it's partly her fault for getting her mixed up into this god awful shitty mess to begin with. Nik could have had her side in the whole thing; adamantly refusing to bring her into the fold, not allowing Yaz and Tyler to call the shots when it came to the Intel and now the tactical sides of things. But Nik had just thrown her under the bus; offering her up like some kind of sacrificial lamb. Acting as if there weren't other people that couldn't do the job. Other mercenaries looking for work. Who were much more experienced. Seasoned. Hardened. Instead of putting all her faith and trust into someone who had become nothing more than a housewife and stay at home mother.

The other part reminds Esme that Nik is her friend. Regardless of her history with Tyler. Nik was the one who'd initially brought her into the fold five and a half years ago; who'd brought her along when she'd gone to the little shack in the Australian outback to recruit Tyler for the Dhaka job. In a way, it was all Nik's doing; had she not brought Esme aboard and had her tag along that day, this part of her life wouldn't even exist. There would be no Tyler. No hobby farm in Colorado. No children. She would more than likely still be living the old existence; living out of suitcases as she travelled place to place. Lying. Conning. Getting people to trust her so she in turn could help destroy them.

Fell asleep, she types back. If it's important, they'll call back.

She waits for the response. And in true Nik fashioned, it makes her want to hurl the phone across the room. 

Get your head on straight, E. We don't have time for this.

Sighing heavily, she rolls over onto her back and stares up at the ceiling. One hand on her queasy, cramping stomach, the other holding the SAT down at her side. He's been gone for an hour; McCann had insisted on meeting forty five minutes from Belfast. Worried that there were too many eyes and ears within the city itself and that word would travel fast and the end result would be hell on earth. He had a lot of enemies within the IRA. He knew too much. Deep and dark secrets that could bring down a lot of very powerful people. And his involvement with someone like Tyler would set off a lot of alarms.

She worries that it's more. Something far more devious. Dangerous. He hasn't given them any reason to trust him. Right off the hop he'd fed them complete and utter bullshit regarding his New Zealand extraction; convincing them that his wife just nothing but a lowly, random shopkeeper when she'd actually been the reason he'd been hired in the first place. He hadn't gone after on a rescue mission; he'd been hired by the devil to take her straight back to hell. A man in this thirties wooing and winning a seventeen year old girl that was essentially at his mercy. That alone is extremely troubling. And taking into account his ties to the IRA and possible lingering connections to them, it was easy to assume that his plan to get Tyler nearly an hour away from the safety net of Belfast is also some of ruse. To get him alone and vulnerable. 

Or to hit him where it really hurts and get her alone and vulnerable.

The nausea increases. Eyes closing as she rubs her stomach in slow, smooth circles, struggling to keep a grip on the runaway emotions. They normally weren't this bad. Usually she could easily talk herself out of the stress and the panic before they hit head on. But now it feels as if it's going way too quick. Too fast, too soon. So much worry and anxiety that it makes her head spin and her chest ache.

Her SAT rings once more. The pub. Again. Only this time she's able to get a grip, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and moving towards her laptop as it sits open on the table by the window. Once she's within a foot it causes the system to come alive; the recording of the call beginning even before she presses talk.

****

“Hello?”

“Is this Meghan?”

She recognizes his voice. Billy. The barkeep from the pub. 

“William,” she warmly greets, with the same flirtatious tone she'd used the night before when she'd dropped his full name for the first time. She'd noticed then how it seemed to get under his skin; in a good way. That little smile that tugged at his lips, the slight blush in her cheeks and the tips of her eyes, the way his eyes seemed to soften and sparkle.

It had been one the easiest marks of her career. Most took a while to warm up to her. Taking weeks to even months to soften up their hardened and weathered exteriors. But he'd been eager; ready to let someone in. And what better someone than an established, attractive, and seemingly available woman? One that would do anything...or perhaps even anyone...to get ahead in the world. 

“I hope I didn't catch you in a bad spot. I was wondering if you had a little time to spare.”

“For you?” she leans back in her chair, a barefoot planted against the cool glass of the sliding door. A far cry from the evening before when she'd played the part in her business slacks and curve hugging blouse. Clad now in one of her her husband's tattered and frayed t-shirts and pair of baggy grey track pants with the Emery surfboard company name and logo down one leg; small blotches of bleach dotting the fabric in several places. No make up and her hair messy. “For you I can make the time, William.”

A silent pause. And she smirks as she leans further back in the chair and places her second foot against the window, twirling a piece of hair around her index finger.

“I like that,” he says. “The way you call me that.”

“Well that is you're name, isn't it?” she crosses one her legs over the thigh of the other, bouncing her heel up and down against the glass. “You are William, are you not? That is what Billy is short for, I assume.”

“It is,” he confirms with a chuckle. “It's just that no one has called me that in a long time. Since my wife.”

“You're married?” she reaches over to snag the pen and spiral bound notebook off the table. It's full of random notes and doodles in various different colours of ink; her and Tyler both using it to hurriedly jot down names and numbers and any other bits and pieces of information, vital or not. It's old school and shouldn't be necessary with the computer recording everything off the SAT, but technology isn't always fool proof.

“I was. We're divorced. Bad break up. She was shagging a mate of mine.”

“Well that's unfortunate,” she hurriedly flips to a fresh page of paper and places the book on her thigh. “Hard to believe anyone would cheat on someone like you. If you forgive me for being so bold, but you aren't exactly lacking in the looks department. You're quite the head turner. In my humble opinion.”

“Well thank you,” he chuckles, and she can practically see the blush creeping into his cheeks and the tips of his ears. It's not entirely a lie; he is quite easy on the eyes. And a much younger and single Esme would have considered..albeit briefly...crossing that line between business and personal. “You're easy to look at yourself. Very easy to look at actually.”

“I take it this isn't a business call,” she muses. 

“Not entirely. It's a little bit of both. Business and pleasure.”

She smirks. “And what kind of pleasure are we talking about? Because I don't usually get into that sort of thing with someone I barely know.”

“I was thinking dinner. And drinks. If you're free.”

“Well that depends.”

“On what?”

“If you tell me a little more about yourself. I can't jump into anything with a stranger. A young woman, alone in a foreign country, far from home. That wouldn't be smart would it? If I just blindly trusted you and took you up on the offer?”

“Well what is you want to know?”

“Well I think dinner and drinks calls for first and last names,” she says. “You know mine. So...”

“It's Flynn. My last name,”

“William Flynn,” she repeats, as she jots it down. “That has a very nice ring to it. How old are you William Flynn?”

'How old are you?” he counters.

“I asked first. And isn't it always ladies first?”

“I suppose,” he chuckles. “Twenty eight. And you.”

“Thirty,” she lies.

“I honestly thought much younger,” he admits, and she can't help but let it inflate her ego. And encourage her to continue with the little game. “You look good. For thirty. Very good, actually. Do you have children?”

“No,” that lie actually hurts to tell it, and she tries to push the intense feeling of guilt to the back of her mind. “I'm too focused on my career right now. You?”

“A son. He's three. Collin. Lives with his mom. In Dublin.”

She continues to scribble things down. “That's sad,” she hopes it sounds sincere. “I hope you get to spend time with him. That's quite the trek down to Dublin.”

“Every second weekend. I'd like it to be more often but...” he sighs. “...it is what it is. So you're not married? But you still wear a ring?”

“I've had a hard time severing that last string. It's a bitter pill to swallow. When the man of your dreams pick his job over you. When your happily ever after doesn't exactly turn out that way. He wasn't happy. As a husband. We were much happier before. Before things got too serious.”

“Well pardon me for saying this, but he's a goddamn fool. He has to be to choose work over the likes of you. So have you thought about it? My offer? Dinner and drinks?”

“I'm intrigued,” she admits. “What's in this for me? Other than the handsome and charming company?”

“I have some information. About what you asked about last night. Michael McMann. About his wife and kids and whose involved and trying to stir up trouble. And I've got some names. Of other people you can contact. That are willing to talk. People that are higher up than I am. With real connections.”

“Higher up in...”

“The IRA.”

She grins victoriously and in big letters at the top of the page, right under the name William Flynn, prints those three initials. “You're involved with them? The IRA?”

“It's the family business. What I can tell you is that we're not involved in this. With the wife and kids. We hate the guy. He screwed us over. But we'd never do that. Especially to kids. Even we draw the line somewhere. But whoever is doing this has pissed off a lot of people. Tempers are running high. We want to find out who it is and do something about it.”

“Like a turf war?” she writes that down, accenting it with a big question mark.

“There's a lot of trouble brewing, that's for sure. We want nothing to do with this. The wife and the kids. And they're using us to draw attention away from themselves.”

“Any idea who it is?”

“No real proof. Just lots of rumours. I shouldn't be talking about all of this right now,” he gives a small chuckle. “What will we talk about dinner?”

“Oh I'm sure we can find things to talk about,” she assures him.

“Or things to do.”

“Now don't go putting all your eggs into one basket. I'm not that type girl.”

“I'm sorry, Meghan. I never meant anything by it. Forgive me for being too forward. I...”

“What time for dinner? Tonight is unfortunately not going to work for me. I have prior arrangements that can't be cancelled. But if you're free tomorrow, I can certainly clear my schedule.”

“Tomorrow would be wonderful. I know this is terribly bold of me, but I haven't been able to stop thinking about you. You've been on my mind constantly. Since you walked into the bar. You're very...intriguing. I can't quite get a read on you. There's something so different about you. Way different than any of the women from around here. A mystery, almost. There's so much I'd like to find out.”

“Well if you play your cards right, maybe I'll let you find those things out,” she responds. 

“Tomorrow? Six thirty?”

“How about seven? It gives me longer to get ready.”

“Done,” he agrees. “Where do I pick you up?”

Shit, she hadn't even considered that this question would come up. It has been smooth sailing; much easier and seamless than so many initial encounters.

“Meghan?” 

“You know, I'm not entirely comfortable with a stranger knowing where I'm staying. I'm a little paranoid about that sort of thing. You can never be too careful in this day and age. How about we meet somewhere? In public. I hate to be such a bother and a worry wart, but...”

“How about we meet her at the bar? We could go in the back room. It's private there. We can have dinner. A few drinks. See where the night takes us.”

She groans internally. “Sounds like a plan,” she chirps. “I'm very much looking forward to seeing you again. To chatting more. I'm flattered. That you thought of me.”

“I've been obsessed with you,” he admits. 

“Well hopefully you hold onto some of that enthusiasm. I have to go. I have an online meeting with my editor in a few, so...”

“I'm very much looking forward to tomorrow,” he says. “And I'm flattered as well. That you'd agree to have dinner with me.”

“I'll see you tomorrow,” she promises. “Seven.”

“Seven,” he confirms, and then offers a soft, quiet goodbye before hanging up the phone.

****

“Well this isn't how I expected things to go,” Mark says, smirking from the passenger's seat of the rented SUV. “You asking me for help.”

“It's the last thing I want to be doing, believe me. You're the last person I want to be dealing with. Ever.”

“So why am I here? What's got the legendary Tyler Rake swallowing his pride and actually asking someone for help? You're usually a one man show from what I've heard. Must be some serious shit if you're willing to suck it up and give someone a call. Especially me.”

Tyler sighs, eyes briefly closing as he pinches the bridge of his nose between the thumb and forefinger. “You're already making me regret this. Could you maybe shut the fuck up for five seconds? I don't have the time or the tolerance to listen to your bullshit. I don't want to hear any comments about my marriage, no opinions on how I handle things with my wife, no stupid shit about my personal life or my kids or none of that. This is strictly business. So let's keep it that way, yeah?

“Fair enough,” Mark agrees. “So what's up? What's going on?”

“This McMann guy,” Tyler begins. “There's no way of knowing what he's really up to. If he's innocent in all of this or he's actually part of it. If he's the victim in all of this or if this is some really crazy act of revenge and he's just wanting to get me alone.”

“I thought you didn't have history with this guy? With the IRA? Or with the wife?”

“I don't know. Well, not that I can remember anyway,” he confesses. “There's things...a lot of things ...that I don't remember. Dhaka...everything that happened on the bridge...it's fucked with my head. I'm not sure if it's because of blood loss or lack of oxygen or all the meds I've been on. But there's things I don't remember. No matter how hard I try to. So maybe I did have history with them. Maybe I did have a job they were involved in and I pissed them off and I just don't remember it.”

“And when you didn't recognize McMann when he showed up in Telluride, he decided to play it for all it's worth,” Mark concludes.

“Maybe. I don't know. He seemed like he was on the up and up. About what's going on with his wife and his kids. But there's a couple times where he's said some things that didn't quite sit right. I brought up how if...when...things go to shit...he might not be able to get his kids out. Not both of them, anyway. He threw it back in my face. Asking me how I'd decide which of the twins to save.”

Mark scowls. “That's a bitch move.”

Tyler nods. “I told him there'd be no decision. That I'd give up my life for theirs. No hesitation. If it meant saving them and getting them back to their mother, that it was something I was willing to do. It would be easier on Esme. If she lost me instead of one of the kids. She'd get over me. But she'd never get over losing one of them. She's an amazing mum. And I'm lucky. To have her. That she's the mother of my kids.”

“It's what she always wanted. Kids. I just wasn't the man to give her that.”

“McMann wasn't on the same page as I was. The idea seemed ridiculous to him. Having to make that kind of decision. He wasn't...he isn't willing to sacrifice himself for them. I found it weird. That there'd be any hesitation whatsoever. How do you not want to save your kids? Your blood? They're your legacy. Why would you not want to let them go on and live long and happy lives? It didn't sit well with me. I haven't been able to get it out of my head.”

“There's guys without kids that would make the same decision as you. I saw it overseas. In Iraq. You probably did too. Soldiers ready and willing to sacrifice themselves to save random kids...and women...from the Taliban.”

Tyler nods. “I've seen it a few times, actually. I've even known mercenaries that have given themselves up to save someone.”

“You almost did,” Mark points out. “Even after things went to hell and there was no money, you still busted your ass to kid that get out. And Esme.”

“I wasn't going to leave them behind. No matter who wanted me to. And if it meant I died for them...”  
he shrugs. “...it was what I was willing to do.”

Mark nods slowly, considering his words. The sincerity in his voice. In his eyes.

“Esme doesn't trust him,” Tyler says. “McMann. And she has great instincts. Better than mine sometimes. She didn't want me going into this alone. She's worried sick. That this could all be a trap and McMann's got an army of guys just waiting to ambush me. I need to give her peace of mind. And I promised her I'd come back safe. That I'd come back to her. She trusts you. I don't know why. Considering everything you did to her...” he holds up his hand; a plea for silence when the other man opens his mouth to speak. “....but she trusts you. You're the only one I could call. Yaz was made the same time I was. I can't be seen in public with Esme or she'd be made and that will fuck up her end of things. So I called you.”

“How do you know you can trust me?”

“Because you know I'd fuck you up if you crossed me. You know I won't hesitate killing you. And I don't think you want that, do you. You can act all big and bad, walk around wagging your mouth, try to get under my skin. But you know the stories. All the bloody and gory details. You know what I'm capable of. And you know I won't mind adding you to the body count.”

A smirk tugs at the corners of Mark's mouth. Not nearly as confident as the ones he's given before. 

“So this is me, asking you for help. Now are you in or you're out, mate? Because I don't have all day.”

Mark hesitates. Then offers a hand. An agreement. “I'm in.”

****

“William Robert Flynn,” Yaz reads the information aloud from where he sits at the table in Esme and Tyler's room, his own laptop and ipad spread across the table. “Born March 15th, 1997, right here in Belfast. Parents are Robert and Elizabeth Flynn. Nee McDonald. Dad is deceased. 2011. Mother is still alive. Lives in England now. Remarried.”

“How did the father die?” Nik inquires, her image on the laptop screen. “Suspicious circumstances?”

“Coroner's report lists self inflicted gun shot wound to the head.”

“There's a police report,” Esme speaks up from across the table, her own computer in her lap, a plate of barely touched room service food in front of her. She'd been hungry and had taken it as a sign that the nausea was finally at bay. Until the first bite and attempted swallow had her running for the bathroom. Her head pounds. Frantically. And she reaches for a bottle of water and the container of Advil in the middle of the table. “Says that William Flynn was the one who discovered his father. In the back garden. Face down in a pool of blood. Gun was lying next to him. A nine millimeter. Glock. Spent shell casing near by.”

“He would have only been fourteen,” Yaz says. “Same age Ovi was in Dhaka. Hell of an age to walk into something like that. Your old man missing half his head.”

“Any evidence that says it may have not been a suicide?” Nik asks. 

“The police reports are shit,” Esme replies, as she pops three of the tablets into her mouth and swallows them with a mouthful of water. “I've seen some pretty amateur ones, but this has to be one of the worst. Obviously the cops and the coroner didn't think this case mattered. He was an IRA member. Probably caused a world of trouble when he was around. They were just glad he was gone. Why waste the resources, they probably figured.”

“There was no gunshot residue on his hands,” Yaz says. “Or at least that's what the report says. And he's not wearing gloves in any of the photos, so...”

“It was a hit,” his sister concludes. “Before any of this, was there any connections between the IRA or the Buckmans? Anything that stands out? Anything that could tie Robert Flynn to the Buckmans?”

“Not that we've recovered so far,” Esme says. “But we're still digging. Robert Flynn was pretty high up in the IRA. One of their best and longest serving members. A real enforcer. He didn't mind getting his hands dirty. His son is an active member. They have ties to the IRA going back to the grandfather and great grandfather. Not to mention several cousins and uncles still in the movement. It's the family business, apparently.”

“So William Flynn obviously knows Michael McMann,” Nik concludes. “And vice versa. Anything that shows a feud between them?”

“Nothing on paper,” Esme responds. “But he told me that everyone in the IRA is pissed as hell with McMann. For betraying them. And taking a lot of secrets and dirty shit with him when he left. And now they're even more pissed because McMann's out there saying that it's the IRA that scooped his wife and his kids. And they'd admit to that. The IRA would definitely claim responsibility. They've never denied ties to even some of their broader scale bullshit. So they'd admit to this.”

“We were wondering if maybe this is all a big ploy to make things blow up within the IRA,” Yaz speaks up. “To stir the pot enough that an outsider comes in and starts it all off. That maybe that's what Tyler is being used for. To kick it all off. What better way for McMann to draw attention away from himself? Let Tyler cause the shit and then leave him hung out to dry.”

Esme sighs, briefly closing her eyes and laying a hand over her queasy stomach.

“Are you okay?” Nik inquires. “You look a little...off.”

“Just stress. This is all just so insane. It's so twisted and so fucked up and now Tyler's out there...alone...meeting with this guy. What if he has people with him? What if he's got a whole damn army behind him and Tyler's just walking into a huge trap? He's good. But he's not that good. He wouldn't stand a chance and you both know it.”

Yaz attempts a reassuring smile. “He'll be okay. He's smart. He knows what he's doing. Your man isn't stupid, that's for sure. Look what he handled in Dhaka. When he went into that apartment to extract Ovi.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, Yaz. I do. But there's a huge difference between street thugs in Dhaka and the IRA. These people are extremely dangerous. Extremely dangerous. And they show no mercy.”

“And neither does Tyler,” he points out. “If anyone can handle this, it's him.”

“He should never have went there alone,” Esme huffs. “It was dangerous. Foolish. Sending him in by himself.”

“We don't have anyone there to help,” Nik attempts to reason. “Resources are extremely thin. It's the three of you and that's it. And the rest of the team is out on other assignments or they're here helping keep an eye on things. He'll be fine, Esme. He always is.”

“Oh really? Always? Because I seem to vividly remember him bleeding to death on the Sultana Kamal Bridge. Or are we just forgetting that that happened? Oh wait, it's because you two took off to get Ovi to safety and you left Tyler there to die. And you left me there to watch him die.”

“That isn't how it happened and you know it,” Nik seems hurt by the explanation. “We came back for you. For both of you.”

“Half a goddamn hour later! Thirty minutes I spent with my hand pressed to his neck, trying to keep him alive. While he bled out all over the fucking place. You weren't there. You weren't the one holding him there on the bridge. You weren't the one with blood on your hands. His blood. So I'm sorry if I'm not as appreciative for your help as you'd like me to be, Nik.”

“Okay....okay...” Yaz pleads for calm. “....let's not rehash this. It's over five years ago.”

“Five years ago, five weeks ago, five days ago,” Esme snarls. “It still happened. And pretending it never did is bullshit. It's bullshit and it's completely disrespectful. To Tyler. To just push it aside like you've both been doing all these years. Acting like it was no big deal. You got him into that mess, Nik. You brought him into that bullshit and then you left him there. You left both of us there. What would have happened had you not come back? He would have died there. And who the hell knows what would have happened to me once Asif realized he didn't totally finish the job. And let's not forget that you wanted Tyler and I to leave Ovi in the goddamn street. You wanted us to just throw the kid to the wolves.”

“I wanted the two of you out of there,” Nik argues. “I wanted you both safe. The kid held you back. Had you gotten rid of him, both you and Tyler would have made it out of there before everything blew up in our faces.”

“He was a kid! He was a kid and you wanted us to just leave him there! Jesus, Nik. Do you realize how that makes you sound? Like a bloody sociopath.”

Yaz sighs. “This solves nothing. You two going at each other like this. I know it's been a long time coming but...”

“You probably wanted him to leave me there too,” Esme says. “I'm actually surprised you didn't suggest it. You knew what was going on. Between Tyler and I. And you hated it even then. You hated the idea of me in his life. Because it took him away from you.”

“That's not true. I was pissed off that the two of you were so goddamn reckless and foolish and you actually thought it was good idea to start fucking each other while on the job. You couldn't wait until it was all over? The two of you were that desperate and horny that you had to fuck each other on my time?”

“Enough,” Yaz snaps. “Both of you. This is bullshit. We're all in this together. It doesn't matter what happened back then. It was five and a half years ago. So they fucked each other. No one else gave a shit. No one else cared. Only one it bothered was you Nik.”

“Because she wasn't the one fucking him,” Esme pipes up. “Not anymore, anyway. All the more reason she probably wanted him to leave me in the street. Get me out of the way so she could climb back into his bed again.”

“It doesn't matter,” Yaz insists. “It wasn't going to happen. Once Tyler met you, that was it. It was over. And you...” he glares at his sister through the laptop screen. “...they're together. It happened. They're married. They've got kids. Let it go already. Let him go.”

“I've had enough of this,” Nik fumes. “We'll pick this up again later. When certain people can actually stay focused on the job at hand. That seems to be a thing for you, Esme. You couldn't stay focused in Dhaka either.”

“Fuck you, Nik. Seriously. Fuck you. I don't need to be here. I'm not one of your employees. I'm helping you, remember?”

No response. Just a black screen signalling the other woman has already logged off.

Yaz sighs, shaking his head in disbelief. “I know that that's been coming for five and a half years, but shit. Could you not have waited until after we discussed all of this? Was it really that important that you just had to get to it?”

“Don't you start, Yaz. You know everything I said is true. She left us there. On that bridge. While he was dying. While I was trying to keep him alive.”

“What were we supposed to do? We had to get Ovi out of there.”

“Oh I don't know. Maybe it would have been nice to help me get Tyler the fuck out of there. How about that?”

“There was no time. There were going to be more cops. Military even. We had to get Ovi out of there.”

“So to hell with the two people that busted their asses to get Ovi there in one piece right? To hell with the fact that your friend is lying there with a gunshot wound to his throat, bleeding out all over the place. Tyler wasn't useful anymore. He did what you all needed him to do and it no longer matter what happened to him. And if I just so happened to get killed too, oh well. No big loss, right?”

“We came back. I told Nik we had to go back for you guys and...”

“Wait...wait...” she stares at him incredulously. “...you had to tell her to go back and get us?”

“She thought it was too dangerous. That the situation was still too hot. She didn't want to ask anymore lives. But I told her that I couldn't just leave you guys there. That if Asif found out that things weren't finished and he sent more people down there, neither of you would stand a chance. I told her I was going back in to get you guys. Whether she helped me or not.”

“So she was more than willing to leave us there. To leave Tyler there. After what he'd done to make sure he got Ovi there? To get both of us there? She was okay with just leaving him to die?”

“To be honest, we thought he'd be dead when we got back. We didn't expect him to be alive still. We all saw what happened. What were the chances that he'd actually survive that? That you would have actually been able to keep him alive?”

“I wasn't leaving him there. I wasn't letting him die. Do you know what that was like? To go through that? To try and convince someone not to just give up? When dying is much easier than the fight not to? I had my fingers in his goddamn throat, Yaz. I had to stick my fingers in his neck to try and block the artery. I can still feel it. How hot the blood was. I can still feel his pulse against my fingers. And I can still smell it. Like it was yesterday. Do you have any idea what that was like?”

“No,” he shakes his head sadly. “And I'm sorry you have to remember all of that. That you had to go through it.”

“I didn't let him die on that bridge and I'm sure as hell not going to sit back and let him die here either. Maybe your sister was willing to let that happen, but I'm not. His life means more than that. A hell of a lot more. He's not the same Tyler he was back then. The one that had a death wish. He's my husband, Yaz. The father of my children. And there is no way I'm letting anyone send him out there to die.”

“You're doing what you can. The intel. The tactical. There's only so much you can do, Esme. Killing yourself isn't going to save him. Getting yourself killed trying to keep him alive solves nothing. Because if something happens to you, he'll put a gun in his mouth. Or he'll drink himself to death. He would not survive that. You know it, I know it.”

She sighs, a frown on her face as she runs a hand over her unsettled stomach.

“You look like shit,” Yaz observes.

“Well thanks. I'm so glad you pointed that out.”

“You're not...you know...”

She laughs. “You have something against saying the actual word? No. I'm not pregnant. We've been trying. But it hasn't happened yet. This is definitely stress. I know the difference. I've been through three pregnancies. I felt the same way with each of them. I knew right away that it wasn't stress and that I wasn't just sick. This? This is not the like any of those three times. It's definitely stress. Worry. And I miss home. I miss my kids. I just want to go home and see them.”

“Soon,” he promises. “This will all be over soon.”

She gives a shaky, skeptical smile. 

She hopes he's right.


	29. Chapter 29

“I thought you said you knew how to do this?” Esme whispers, as she nervously bounces up and down on her heels, arms crossed over her chest, hands vigorously rubbing her shoulders in a vain attempt to warm herself up. Enormous poplars tower over either end of the McMann's front porch, effectively blocking out the sun and bringing a chill to the air.

“I do,” Yaz responds, as he uses a picking tool to manipulate the lock on the front door. He'd already used a high tech blocker to jam the security system; once inside no alarm would sound and no police or security would be alerted to their activity. “It just takes time.”

“It's been fifteen minutes. If there's anyone watching, they're going to see us.”

“If there is anyone watching, they would have seen us by now. I can't believe you even talked me into this.”

“I was getting tired of waiting around for Nik to make up her mind about whether she wanted us to check the place out or not. What's with her dragging her heels? We are running out of time. Those kids are running out of time. We need information, Yaz. It's not going to fall into our laps.”

“I thought you were going to get information tomorrow. On your date.”

“It is not a date. It's a ruse. To get what I what. This clock is ticking. We don't have time to fuck around. Those kids have been missing for two weeks. And you know as well as I do, that they're on borrowed time. So it's time to pull out all the stops. Go big or go home.”

'Tyler's going to flip his shit, you know that, right?”

“Tyler is a big boy that realizes that we need to get the show on the road. And that sometimes means making....uncomfortable...decisions.”

“You really think he's going to be okay with his wife going out on a date with some random guy?”

“Again, it's not a date. I'm using this person to get information. Information we all desperately need, I might add. This is the only way I'm going to get it, Yaz. And it's messed up and it's weird and it's going to get incredibly awkward. But this has to be done. He's got names. People who have way more clout and info than he does. We are so close to finding out just who has those kids and where they are.”

“You're crazy if you think Tyler is going to go along with this. I wouldn't if I was in his shoes. I wouldn't want my wife putting herself out there like that. Pretending she's single, flirting with other men, having dinner and drinks with them.”

“It's for the job. He's not going to feel threatened over some two bit hood that I have to con to get info out of. He's forty years old, Yaz. He's far beyond being the jealous and irrational type.”

He smirks. “You keep telling yourself that.” There's an audible 'click' as the lock finally gives way, and he shoots her a victorious grin as he turns the handle and pushes the door open, holding it for her and gesturing for to step inside first. 

“Oh so it can be me the attack dogs come after first,” she teases, slapping him playfully across the chest before stepping into the foyer. “Not too shabby,” she gives a nod of approval as she surveys the polished marble tiles, cove ceilings, and rich cherry wood accents. “I didn't picture McMann as the type to have wainscotting and antiques. He seems more like the leather and chrome type. Look...” she picks up a small knick-knack from the hallway table; a small porcelain figurine of a young boy with his dog. “...he even has Hummels! Talk about someone being a total mind fuck! Total study in contradiction, don't you think?”

“How do you even know what Hummels are? You don't seem like the type to collect frilly and pretty shit.”

“My grandmother used to collect them. She had a whole china cabinet full of them. She used to threaten to beat our asses if even dared step a single toe in the living room where they were kept. She was the type that had plastic on the couches and fancy hand towels in the bathroom that no one was allowed to touch. Oooo...look...mail,” she picks up a stack of envelopes from the table. “Let's snoop.”

“What are we exactly looking for?” Yaz asks, as they fall in step alongside of each other, curiously watching as she thumbs through the stack of mail, then selects a handwritten letter bearing a New Zealand postal stamp. 

“Anything and everything,” she tears into the envelope, plucking the stiff writing paper out from its confines, carefully opening it. “Fancy,” she releases a low, impressed whistle. “Someone doesn't realize the art of good penmanship and snail mail died a long time ago. This has to be from an older relative. Someone still hanging onto the past. Maybe Heather's grandmother?”

“Maybe. What's it say?”

“It's about the business. Maybe the grandmother's shop? The one where she was helping Heather hide out from her father? Where McMann found her? There's no name of the place or an address. The letter is personal. Nothing business like about it. All about how sad it is that the end of the era has come and how the writer wishes things could have been different. But they accept the decision and won't contact them again. It's signed Nan.”

“Definitely the grandmother.” Yaz concludes. 

“We'll take it with us,” Esme says, and then pauses before she slips it into her purse. Then drops all of the envelopes inside. “We'll talk all of them, actually.”

“You don't think he's going to realize his mail is missing?”

“Who cares. Let him think he's gone crazy and tear the place apart looking for it. Let's start upstairs and work our way down.”

“You seem to enjoying this a little too much,” Yaz comments, as he follows her up the spiral staircase, loose floorboards sagging and creaking under their feet. “Were you a cat burglar at some point in your old life?”

“No,” she laughs. “I just get a perverse satisfaction out of snooping through peoples' shit and finding out the skeletons in their closet. Especially people like this. The ones who have the fancy house and the fancy cars and the designer clothes. The ones that look so perfect on the outside yet have the most twisted shit going on behind closed doors.”

“So about this date...”

She sighs.

“Sorry...about this 'non date'. You honestly think Tyler is going to be okay with it? That you're going to let some IRA dude wine and dine you?”

“First all, I think you need to stop worrying about what goes on between Tyler and I. Our marriage is good, Yaz. It's beyond good. It's amazing. We love each other and want to spend the rest of our lives together and totally intend on doing just that. We have four amazing kids. If we've managed to get through the past five and a half years, this bullshit with Michael McMann isn't going to break us.”

“But you're pretending like your single. You're flirting with this bartender. You agreed to go out with him.”

“It's for the job,,” she reminds him. “There's nothing scandalous going on. It is strictly business. I'm not running off to cheat on my husband. This isn't committing adultery. This is lying and conning someone into giving us what we want. What we need. And Tyler is going to understand that. Any rational human being would.”

“You realize that he isn't exactly understanding and rational when it comes to you, right? You realize it drives him batshit insane if another guy so as much looks as you when you're with him? He doesn't even like me checking you out.”

“You've been checking me out?”

“It's kind of hard not to. At the risk of sounding like a pervert, you're kind of hard not to notice. I so would have scooped you up if you weren't into tall, buff, Australian dudes. I'm just saying that this is a horrible idea. You hooking up with this bartender. It can be done another way. Getting information. Why risk pissing Tyler off and causing issues between you guys?”

“He isn't going to be pissed off. He's a professional.”

“He's also your husband. Maybe he'd be okay with it if it was just some girl off the street Nik brought in. But you guys have history. You're his wife. And no husband is going to like the idea of his wife being with another man. Whether it's for business or not. Doesn't he at least get a say in this?”

“What he is going to say?”

“That you're insane and there's no way he's letting you do it.”

“I admit, when I tell him, he may get a little upset...”

Yaz stares at her pointedly.

“Okay so he may get very upset. But when he calms down, he'll realize that it's for the best. That things like this have to be done from time to time. I'm going to have a dinner and a couple drinks and I'm going to get the info we need. I'm not running off with some strange man to cheat on my husband. Give me some credit, would you? Sheesh. You don't really think that about me do you? That I'd do that to Tyler?”

“I don't think you would. I know you're crazy about the guy. But this is some serious shit you're wadding into. This guy is IRA. Not just a bartender. A bartender that's in a terrorist organization. And you're walking right into his bullshit. This is crazy. You know it is. And I agree that we need information, but...”

“You check the master bedroom,” she suggests. “I'll hit up the kids' rooms”

He captures her by the wrist before she can walk away. “Esme, I'm just worried about you, okay? This is some scary shit we're all getting into it. You're my friend. Tyler's my friend. I don't want to see this screwing things up for you guys. You two have a great thing. He has a normal life. A wife and kids. A house. All the things he'd never thought he'd have, you gave him. And I don't want to see all that fucked up because of this Michael McMann bullshit. Just promise me you'll hear him out. When you tell him about tomorrow night. Don't just ignore what he has to say. Because I don't think you realize just how much he loves you. How much it would kill him to lose you. To lose what he has.”

“I'm not going anywhere, Yaz. I plan to stick around. For a very long time. Or least until you end up killing me for making jokes at your expense.”

He grins at that.

“Tyler knows I love him. He knows that I would do anything for him. I'm not going to let anyone screw my life up. I've worked too hard at this and put too much work into my marriage...into my family...to let the job mess that up. I promise.”

“Good,” he says, and then playfully tousles her hair. “Now lets get to work.”

****

McMann is already waiting for the them at the scheduled, a long abandoned school on the outskirts of town. A one story sprawling building; faded and chipped red bricks, broken and missing windows, weeds and grass to the knees, industrial sized dumpsters filled the brim. The area itself is a disaster; most of the houses empty and boarded up, junk of various shapes and sizes filling the yards of the tenants who still remain. A foul stench hangs in the air; rotting trash, pollution from the factories only blocks away, the smell of mould and mildew that comes with years of neglect and decay.

“That's him?” Mark mutters as they approach, McMann watching them with narrow, darkened eyes, taking one last, long drag of his cigarette before tossing it aside.

Tyler nods. “Just remember what I told you. Just go with it.”

“Who the hell is this? McMann barks. “You're supposed to be alone. What the hell kind of shit are you trying to pull, Rake?”

“I was just going to ask you the same thing,” he retorts, and before McMann can get out another word, Tyler is grabbing a hold of the front of his t-shirt and slamming his forearm into his throat; using his height and weight advantage to shove the startled man into the side of one of the dumpsters. The back of his head slamming off the metal with an echoing thud.

“What the fuck?!” McMann roars. “What the fuck do you think you're doing? Are you fucking crazy? What is wrong with you? We had a deal!”

“Everything you told me was a goddamn lie,” Tyler snarls. “Right from the very beginning. Right from the fucking start you've been bullshitting me. Playing me. You didn't think I'd find out? You didn't think I had ways of looking into you and figuring out what you're up to?”

“I don't know what you're talking about. I don't...”  
He increases the pressure of his forearm; leaning into the other man. Until McMann is coughing and sputtering and his face turning a vivid shade of red. “Don't lie to me,” Tyler hisses. “If there was ever the time to tell the truth, this would be it.”

“You're crazy,” McMann manages through the gagging; spit rolling down the sides of his mouth, sweat beading across his forehead. His eyes wide with a mixture of fury and terror. “You're fucking crazy. I was warned about you. How unhinged you are.”

“I haven't even got to the point of being unhinged. I know about your little plan. All the bullshit you spewed to get me here. Away from my family. You wanted me alone. You thought it would make me vulnerable. You thought you'd be able to get the drop on me.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about you. You!” he barks the last word at Mark, who stands idly by with his hands shoved in his pockets, enjoying the exchange. “Do something would ya? Get him off of me!”

“No,” Mark says, and casually leans against one of the brick walls. “I don't think I will.”

“Your little friend showed up at my hotel,” Tyler continues. “What is she? Your little girlfriend? Your side piece?”

“What girl? Who...”

“She gave me the pictures. The pictures of your wife and your kids. The proof of life. And she gave me the pictures of my family. Of my wife, my kids. Didn't I warn you not to fuck with my family? Didn't I tell you it was the worst possible thing that you could do? Go after my wife and my kids? That I would kill you if you even thought about it?”

“I swear...” McMann claws at Tyler's forearm, struggles in vain to get away from the strong, solid body keeping him in place. “...I don't know what you're talking about...”

“Tell me the truth,” Tyler orders. “All of it. Or I will snap your neck right here and now and I'll leave you here to rot.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about!” he insists, his skin turning a hideous shade of purple, blood vessels popping in his eyes. And with his free hand he reaches up to grab a hold of Tyler's hair; yanking and twisting it.

“You stupid fucker!” Tyler roars; the act dissipating, the rage suddenly all too real. 

That simple and desperate act of violence and retaliation against him sends him over the edge. Five and a half years of pent up anger and frustration. The confusion he'd felt during those months in the hospital and all through those long and tedious days of rehab and wondering if he'd ever been even half the man he once was. The guilt that he carried around over what he had put Esme through; her fight to keep him alive on the bridge, the nights she'd spent sleeping beside his hospital bed, the animosity she'd felt towards him for having pushing her into a life she didn't want. The lingering fear that he'll lose her. That she'll disappear from his life just as quick as she entered it. Leaving him broken and alone and raising four kids by himself. He wouldn't survive. He knows it. He'd turn to the booze and the meds again and his life would fall apart and then he'd no longer even have his children.

His forearm slips from McMann's throat and his hand wraps around his throat. Knuckles cracking and turning white from the pure, brute force that he uses. Nostrils flaring. Chest heaving from a mixture of rage and exertion. Eyes dark and crazed. The eyes of a predator that has managed to catch his prey and will show no mercy.

“All right...” Mark is stepping alongside of him now. “....take it easy....take it down a notch...this isn't what we came for...”

“You fucking lied to me,” Tyler's voice is low, menacing. Fingers pressing further into McMann's throat. “I told you to leave my family out of it. I told you to stay away from my wife and my kids. And now they're caught up in this bullshit. Your bullshit. And if anything happens to my wife because of you...”

“Hey...hey...” Mark lays a hand on Tyler's arm. “...look at me, kid....look at me...”

Tyler inhales sharply, breath slowly leaving his lungs and his lips, turning those furious blue eyes on Mark's concerned hazel ones.

“Nothing is going to happen to her, okay? She's going to be fine. She's safe. With you. Now just take it down a notch. This isn't what we came here for. Step back, take a breath, and get your shit together. Understand me?”

Tyler just stares at him. Just heaving. Fingers finally beginning to relax around McMann's throat.

“You kill him and then what?” Mark asks. “You kill him, you don't get what you want. You need whatever information he has. He dies, those kids die. And you know that. That's not what you want, Tyler. You don't want the blood of those kids on your hands. So take a step back and calm down, you hear me?

He finally relents. Hand relaxing and falling off of McMann's throat, stepping back as the man's body collapses to the ground in front of him. 

“Just take it easy...” Mark encourages, and rubs his shoulders in the same way a manager would do a boxer in between rounds. “....just take a few deep breaths and take it easy...”

Tyler rakes his hands through his hair; then bends at the waist, hands resting on his thighs. Eyes closed as he struggles to regain his composure. Sucking in long, shaky breaths. Releasing them slowly. Until he feels all of his muscles begin to relax; the rage and the tension disappearing first from his shoulders, then spreading down his arms and his arms. 

“You stupid sonofabitch,” McMann gasps for air as he struggles into a sit, back against the dumpster. “Do you know who you're messing with? Do you know the people I know? The people I'm involved with? What they could do to you? To your family?”

“Shut your goddamn mouth,” Mark snarls. “I've calmed him down once. I won't be able to again. Keep his family out of this. If you know what's good for you. You good?” he pats Tyler on the back. “You think you can hold it together long enough to get some information out of this prick?”

He nods, heaving a sigh as he stands up. “I'm good.”

“What kind of information?” McMann asks, eyes narrowed as Tyler approaches him. “I've already told you everything I know.”

“You lied to me, mate. Right off the hop. You told me that your wife was a shop keeper in New Zealand. That she was feeding you information while you were there for a job. I know that's all shit. I know who she is. I know who her family is. Who her father was. You were working for him. He hired you to extract her. She was a kid. She was a fucking kid and you took advantage of her. She was weak and vulnerable and you were responsible for her and you preyed on her, you sick fuck.”

“We fell in love,” he tries to reason. “I never forced her into anything. It was mutual.”

“She was a teenager! She was seventeen and you took advantage of her. What the hell is wrong with you? You were thirty three. You were supposed to protect her. Bring her home to her father. She was vulnerable and she trusted you and you took advantage of that. For that alone I should break your fucking neck. We both have daughters. Would you want that for your daughter? I sure as hell don't. And if someone like you ever even so as much looks at my daughter the wrong way. I'll do shit to them that they couldn't even begin to imagine in their worst dreams.”

“She was almost an adult,” McMann continues. “She wasn't a child. She was...”

“I know about everything,” Tyler says. “I know that you started taking jobs for friends of her old man. That you'd take the money and not get the work done. I also know that you killed him.” He's taking a shot in the dark with the last part; there's no proof that McMann is the one that did the hit himself. Or had one put on his father in law.

“He knew too much. About me being part of the IRA. I told him I left and he found out I didn't and he was going to try and convince Heather to take the kids and leave.”

“You're still part of them?” Mark inquires. “The IRA?”

“No. I did leave. Two years ago. I have nothing to do with them now.”

“Why'd you lie about who has your wife and your kids?” Tyler asks. “We know it's not the IRA. They deny having anything to do with it. They won't claim responsibility. Why'd you tell me it was them? Do you realize what could have happened? If I'd just come in here believing what you said and caused all kinds of shit with them? How bad things would have gotten? You wanted me to take the fall for you, didn't you. You wanted me to come here and blow shit up and take a bullet for you. To cover up who's actually behind all of this. You were willing to have me killed to cover your shit up.”

McMann nods. 

“Who has them?” Mark asks. “Who has your wife and your kids?”

“Her family,” he replies. “The Buckmans.”

“Whose in charge?” Tyler inquires. “Of the family? Is it your wife?”

“I can't...I can't tell you that. You have to understand. If I tell you everything...”

“Is your wife in charge?” Tyler presses, and takes a step closer. “Don't fuck me around here, mate. You've lied to me enough. So unless you want me snapping your neck for good this time...”

“I'm not sure. I'm not sure she's involved. At first I thought she was innocent in all of this. That she was just as innocent as the kids. And then things started not adding up. The more and more I thought about it, things didn't make sense.”  
“Why? Why would she do it? Why would she do that to her own kids?”

“Revenge?” McMann suggests with a shrug. “For what I did to her father.”

“And because you've been sticking your dick where it doesn't belong?” Mark smirks. “Yeah, we know about that too. You're just one big shit show, aren't you.”

“Where are they?” Tyler asks. “Where are your wife and kids?”

“That I don't know. I honestly do not know. I've got both of them after me . The IRA. The Buckmans.”

“Well you're well and truly fucked aren't you, mate. And I'd give a shit if you didn't go after my family. Was it you? That sent that girl? Erin? Was it you that had someone take pictures of my wife and my kids?”

“No. I had nothing to do with that. I'd have no reason to do that. I needed you here. To help.”

“No. You needed me here to start a whole bunch of shit. And die in the process. Then shit really hit the fan with your wife and your kids and you realized you did need me alive. That you needed me to do your dirty work. Because you're a coward. A fucking coward that preys on young girls. You were never going to try and get your wife and your kids back, were you. You were going to leave that all to me.”

“I'm not like you,” McMann says. “I can't do the things you do. I can't turn it off. The emotions.”

“And you think I can? You think I like doing this? You think I like having to kill people? I do it because I have to. Because I have no other choice. Because it's me or them. Because I have a family that needs me and going home in a body bag isn't an option.”

“Where are they?” Mark asks. “The kids.”

“I told you. I don't know. I'm not in on this. I have nothing to do with this. I would never do something like that. To my own kids. I do need your help,” he turns pleading eyes up at Tyler. “I do need you to find them. To get them out. You're the only one that can do it.”

“And if I was to leave right now?” Tyler asks “If I was to just say 'fuck it' and leave? What then?”

“You wouldn't be able to live with yourself,” McMann replies. “You have kids of your own. And every time you would look at them, you'd think about the kids you left behind. To die.”

Tyler gives a derisive snort. “Let's go,” he says to Mark, and then turns on his heel to head for the car. “We're done here.”

“Don't you fucking walk away!” McMann roars, as he struggles to his feet. “Don't you bail on me, Rake! Don't you bail on my kids!”

“I'll find your kids,” Tyler assures him. “Just as long as you stay the fuck out of my way.”

*****

The McMann house is eerily quiet; nothing but the soft hum of the central air conditioning filling the air. Outside is just as still; no breeze tousling the tree tops, no sounds of children playing in nearby yards or cars on the street. The sky gray and dreary; an imminent threat of rain. 

Esme scours the little girl's room; the boy's had turned up nothing out of the ordinary and it had left her frustrated and feeling helpless. One moment it felt as if they were getting closer to finding out their whereabouts, the next it seemed as if they were taking a hundred steps backwards. 

The room is the quintessential girls room. A white wood canopy bed with a billowing sheer panels; white with delicately embroidered pink and purple flowers around the edges. An obviously handmade quilt boasting panels displaying rainbows, unicorns and other mythical creatures. The hardwood floor covered in places by impossibly soft bubble gum pink shag throw rugs, a wall to wall bookcase filled with the little one's favourites and a wide selection of stuffed animals. A desk in one corner; covered with drawers and loose markers and crayons. A towering dollhouse in the other; filled with every possible kind of decor and furniture and several different Barbies.

She searches the closet; flipping through hangers of clothing. Mostly dresses; all flowing and made from expensive fabrics and boasting rich, vibrant colours. A handful of more casual items; jeans, a few t-shirts, a couple of zip up sweaters. And she sticks her arm in as far as it will go; blindly feeling along the walls for any shelving or even tucked away spaces and corners that could be used as hiding spots.

Nothing.

Sighing, she closes the closet door and journeys to the dresser. Fingertips tracing along the various toys and small figurines that sit on top of it. Unicorns the current favourite; ceramic ones that have been hand painted, others made from glass, a couple constructed of heavy crystal, two with multi-coloured flowing manes and tails. There's a hair brush and a handheld mirror; antique by the looks of it, likely passed on through generations. A small jewellery box that when opened, held a spinning ballerina and played a soft lullaby.

And suddenly the emotions hit. Raw and powerful. Thoughts of her own little girl. Of Millie and her brilliant blue eyes and her light brown hair done up in braids. Of that bedroom back in Colorado that boasts all the little touches that make Millie the spirited and beautiful five year old that she is; the paintings she'd done on her own and insisted be framed and hung, the fleece Winnie the Pooh blanket that she'd been given as a baby by a neighbour in the old apartment; it was tattered and faded yet she still insisted that it be kept at the foot of her bed. Family pictures on her dresser; even ones of her brothers who she was adamant she hated, yet always told them she loved them before bed. And that stuffed koala; the one that her daddy had given her when she was only an hour old and had been tagging along with them everywhere they went. He was missing one eye now; his fur wasn't as soft and it had lost most of its colour. But he is treasured and well loved.

The tears come now. Hot. Bitter. The realization of just how desperately she misses her family. Just how far away they actually are. How messed up things are and how there's a very real chance that she may never see them again. Or, at the very least, be returning as a single parent.

She flees the room; nearly knocking Yaz clear off his feet as he exits the master across the hall. And she's barely aware of him calling her name and asking what's wrong; tears blurring her vision and burning her cheeks, chest heaving with sobs as she rushes down the stairs. She feels as if she can't breathe. She's nauseous. Dizzy. Desperate for escape.

She's sitting on the front steps when the door opens behind her. Clearing the tears off her cheeks with one hand, the other rubbing at her bare arms. She's tired. Emotionally and physically. The stress and the worry and the overwhelming loneliness just too much to bear. And Yaz doesn't say a word. Just silently slips out of his jacket and drapes it over her shoulders before taking a seat on the top step beside her.

“Anything?” she asks after several minutes, thankful that he hadn't asked questions or pressured her to tell her what was wrong. Just sitting there in silence; a comforting, friendly presence.

“There's no women's clothes,” he replies. “In the closet. Or any of the dressers. No things belonging to a woman in any of the bathrooms.”

“This just gets weirder and weirder,” Esme sighs. “McMann said that his kids and his wife were both taken. On the same day. But if there's no sign she was even here...”

“Maybe she came back and got her things.”

“Which would mean she's not being held. That she's free to come and go as she pleases. And no captor or captors are going to allow that.”

“Which points towards the idea that she's involved.”

Esme nods.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “You've been a little weird the last couple of days.”

“You call me weird three hundred and sixty five days a year. What makes the last couple any different?”

“You're even weirder than usual,” he teases, and playfully leans into her. “I'm serious. You've been acting all out of sorts. Are you okay?”

“No,” she admits with a shake of her head. “I'm not.”

“You wanna talk about it or...”

“I miss home. I miss the kids. I miss my life. The one I had before all of this. Before Michael McMann showed up.”

“You'll get that back,” Yaz assures her. “We're getting closer.”

“How can you say that? We have nothing. If seems like with every two steps we take forward, we take ten backwards.”

“I can just feel it,” he says. “I can just feel that we're close. To something. We should get going. We should really be back at the hotel before Tyler gets there. He's going to wonder where the hell we went if we're not there. And I don't know if we should be telling him about this.”

Esme rests the side of her head against his shoulder. “Our little secret?”

“Our little secret,” he confirms. 

“Think they'd mind if I used their bathroom? Those two extra large teas on the way here practically have my eyeballs swimming.”

He laughs at that. “You want me to wait here or go start the car or....”

“Just wait here. In case someone does see us here and decides to pop in for a visit.”

She steps back into the house, hurrying for the small three piece bathroom that she'd seen when they'd first started their search of the house. While in there, she finds a bottle of anti nausea meds in the medicine and takes three; swallowing them down with a palm full of water and then hurrying out to meet Yaz.

She is three feet from the door when she sees it. Out of the corner of her eye. The corner of an ornate cherry wood dining table behind a set of French doors. And when she slips into the room for a closer look, she frowns at the odd sight of only five chairs instead of the usual six.

The chair, she thinks. 

The one that Heather Buckman was bound to. The one with the unusual carvings on the legs and the back and the very distinct cushion; burgundy with silver and gold flecks.

The one that matches the five still remaining in the room.

Her hands are shaking as she pulls her SAT from the pocket of her jeans. A sudden rush of adrenaline and the resurgence of hope causing the tremors. And she snaps a picture of one of the chairs before composing a text to Tyler and sending it to his phone.

WE FOUND SOMETHING.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: SMUT. NSFW.

He watches her as she sleeps; flat on her stomach, a forearm tucked under the pillow -his pillow- the her cheek rests against. That deep red hair is a striking contest against the crisp white linen; shimmering in the thin rays of sunshine that manages to sneak through the gap in the drawn curtains. She's beautiful; pale smooth skin, the ends of impossibly long and think eyelashes skimming the tops of her cheeks, face make up free and those freckles across the bridge of her nose noticeable. She's always been self conscious of them; always covering them up with foundation or -on those clean days- constantly bringing her hand up to cover them if her self esteem issues tell her that someone is staring at them. They're just part of her; the one thing she possessed that she'd passed down to all of their kids. Those tiny dots making her look even younger than she already does; gracing her with an innocence. Purity. As if she'd never fully made that transition from fresh faced young woman to a thirty five year old wife and mother.

Leaning over the bed, he runs a hand over her hair; presses a kiss to her forehead. She stirs but doesn't awaken; mumbling incoherently, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she rubs her cheek against the pillow and nestles her face even deeper into it. He'd been anxious to find out just what the something was that she had discovered McMann; expecting to hear all about it the second he walked through the door. He'd pictured the way she gets when she's excited; how all but bounces towards him, those dark eyes wide and sparkling, the way she rambles and jumps from topic to topic before the final reveal. And when he'd discovered her napping, he'd briefly considered waking her up. Almost irritated that she'd send him a message like that and have the nerve to not be conscious to explain it. Annoyed that she'd even fall asleep considering the clock was ticking and time was running out. Not just for the McMann kids, but for them as well.

But then he'd stood and watched her and his entire outlook changed. She's been stressed. Anxious. Missing home. The mixture of all those things causing nightmares. A lack of appetite. Headaches and nausea. There was no sense in telling her to relax ; under certain circumstances and involving certain people, she is extremely high strung. Her nerves frayed and her patience shot. So he lets her sleep; journey around to his side of the bed and removing the gun and the holster from his hip, placing them and the SAT phone on top of the nightstand. Then kicks off his boots and and grabs a hold of the comforter that lays bunched up at the end of the bed; covering himself -and her- as he stretches out on his side next to her. Draping an arm over her slender body, pressing his front against her back; eyes closed, face buried in her hair.

His body and mind allow him to rest. It's been a hell of a two weeks; it feels like a lifetime since McMann showed up in Telluride, looking for his help. So much has happened since then. So much continues to happen. The reality of the situation becoming more and more twisted and crazy with each passing hour. It's a mind fuck; trying to piece everything together, make sense of all the information that keeps rolling in. But for a moment, his mind allows him to shut it all down. To think about nothing except for that warm body pressed against his. About the soft, familiar scent that clings to her hair and her skin. The sound of her soft, even breathing. All working together to lull him to sleep.

His eyes crack open when he feels her move against him. The sun has changed positions; more sun streaming through the gap in the curtains, falling across the bed. Has it only been minutes? Has it been hours? And his mind is beginning to fully emerge from the grogginess when she rolls over to face him; pressing her lips against his chin and then resting her forehead against his. The arm against the bed stretching out and the hand combing through his hair, the other one sliding under his hand, palm resting against his back.

“I'm glad you're back,” she says with a content sigh. 

“So am I.”

“Safe and sound,” she muses, and he presses his lip against her forehead. “Everything went okay?

“Yup,” he nods, hand on the small of her back as he pulls her even tighter into him. Needing that closeness; the feel of her body pressed against his, her breath wafting against the skin on his neck. It's not a sexual need; just a desire for intimacy in its purest and simplest form. To know that she's right there with him. That for now, all the worries and the problems are on the back burner and they can just...be.

“Do you find anything out?”

“Nothing we didn't already know. Or at least suspected. The wife's family is behind it. Whether or not she's actually involved or they've made her a victim too...” he shrugs. “...there's no way of knowing that. Not yet anyway.”

“Did you tell him? That you knew everything he told you is a lie?”

“Yeah. I let him know.”

“Did you lose it on him?”

“Not really,” he lies, and then rolls over onto his back, arm still wrapped around her, pulling her with him. Still on her side, her chest nestled against his rib cage, her hand resting on his stomach. 

“So he just willingly gave you the information?” she sounds skeptical.

“What else could he do? Once I threw everything in his face, he couldn't exactly deny it.”

“Do you think he's involved? That maybe he might be in charge of all of this?”

“There's no reason why he would be. Not unless there is something I'm forgetting and our paths have crossed before. Maybe I did step on his toes some time in the past and I can't remember.”

“Your long term memory isn't what got messed up,” she gently reminds him. 

“I still don't remember anything about Dhaka,” he points out. “I remember everything that happened up until the point...” he pauses, squeezes his eyes shut.

Most days he can talk about it with no little to no effect. Calming and rationally able to relive it; from the moment he'd sent her off with Ovi and Saju to when he'd been shot in the neck. Those details are still fresh. As if it had just happened yesterday. He can recall every word that was said, the look on her face when he'd sent her ahead of him to the bridge, the way she'd fought back tears but remained stoic and steadfast when he'd made her and Ovi run for the helicopter. He can even remember what her hand felt like wrapped around his; how strong and firm her grip at been, even though her heart had been breaking. 

Yet there's times where it's just too overwhelming. Where it feels as if the weight of that moment is sitting squarely on his chest and shoulders. Where the sounds and the sounds and even the smells are so vivid that they make him physically ill. It's been five and a half years and he is still trying to piece it all together; the moments after Fahrad had nearly killed him. It is still so foggy. Events completely out of order. Was he really recalling things or was he just so desperate to remember that his brain had made shit up and convinced him it was the truth?

It's one of the hard days. He'd felt it the moment he'd forced himself out of bed. A foul, dark mood settling in when the pain hit with full force; reminding him of just how broken and beat up he really is. After that, things had just gone to shit. The emotional phone call with the kids, having to ask Mark for help, the way he'd come so close to choking the life out Michael McMann. It had been right there in front of him; the chance to take someone's life. And for once he'd actually wanted to do it. For no other than reason than he could.

“You don't have to talk about,” Esme assures him, her voice soft, understanding. Her chin resting on his chest, those dark eyes looking up at him. Those eyes that are filled with so much love and adoration. Trust. “I know you don't like talking about it. That it's not easy for you some days.”

“I just want to remember,” he says. “I need to remember.”

“Why? I've told you everything that happened after that point. What more is there to know?”

He wants to remember the look on her face. As he lay dying in her arms. He wants to know what he said to her. What he was thinking as he choked on his own blood and all she could do was watch it happen. And maybe he even needs to know if she regrets it. Holding on as hard as she had. When it would have just been so much easier on her if she'd just let him go.

“Everything,” he says. “There's so much missing.”

“There's really not though,” she gently insists. “I've told you everything. I've filled in those blanks. I don't know what more there is to tell you.”

“I would have been easier. On you. If you'd just let me die.”

She blinks. Startled by the words. 

“You shouldn't have stayed. You should have just left. With Nik and Ovi. You should have just got into the helicopter...”

“Stop,” she orders. “Just stop. We are not having this conversation. You are not saying the things you are saying. You're having a shit day. I get it. I've been with you through all your shit days. Where the pain is horrible and your brain is muddled and foggy and you think you're going crazy. When you forget things...even the little things...and it frustrates the hell out of you. I've been with you every step of the way. I've been beside you through all of that. And it sucks and I hate that you have go through it. But goddamnit, Tyler. Don't ever say those things.”

“If you'd just left me there, think about much easier your life would have been. The things you wouldn't have had to go through. All the days and nights at the hospital. All the times you had to take care of me because I couldn't do it myself. The fact I couldn't even be there with you through most your pregnancy with Millie because the fucking rehab and the fucking pain and...”

“I wasn't going to leave you there. I wasn't leaving Dhaka without you. And you were leaving alive and I was going to make sure of that. I didn't expect it to be easy. I stayed because I wanted to. Not because I felt had to. And I did it all again. In a heartbeat. The same way you'd do it for me if it came down to it. Please...Tyler...” she reaches up to brush her knuckles across his cheek. “...don't say these things. I know you're having a rough time. I know you're struggling. But had I not stuck around, we wouldn't be here right now. If I'd taken off, there's a chance you would have never even known you were a dad again. You probably never would have known about Millie. Isn't that worth it? The fact that you have this beautiful little girl that adores you and worships the ground you walk on. Doesn't that make it all worth it?”

“Of course it does.”

“And not just her. But your sons. Had I not stuck around, they wouldn't even exist. Is that really what you want? To turn back time and have me leave you there? Knowing what you do now, what you have now, can you honestly say that I should have just let you die?”

“That's not what I'm saying. I'm not saying I wish I was dead. I'm not saying I'd go back and change things and make sure I died. I'm saying I wish things had never been so hard on you.”

“So they were hard. So what? I don't regret sticking around. So why are so adamant about holding onto all this guilt inside of you? Why do you keep thinking I have all these regrets or that I hate you? I gave my life up willingly. So I could have a different one. With you. I don't hate you for that. For anything. And I know things suck. I know you have some really shitty days. But you're my best friend and my lover and my confidant. The father of my children. And I'm here to help you through all of it.”

“But you shouldn't have to,” he points out. “You shouldn't...”

“Would you walk away and abandon me if something happened and I was going through serious shit? Would you just throw in the towel and walk away?”

“Of course not. You know I wouldn't.”

“Then why do you think I should? I took the same vows you did, Tyler. So shove that toxic masculinity bullshit your father handed down to you up your ass and just let me love you, for fuck sakes.”

He can't help but laugh at that. The look of utter disdain on her face. Those narrowed eyes and that furrowed brow and the absolute vehemence in her voice. She's always been feisty as hell; never shy to share whatever is on her mind, never afraid of confrontation, never showing any real fear. 

“You're like this little pissed off mouse,” he chides. “You try to come off so mean and bad ass and you're so small I could pick you up and carry you in my pocket.”

“Oh fuck you,” she's grinning as she says it. “Just because you're freakishly tall!”

“And you're freakishly small. You tiny folk are full of rage. Don't take it on us normal people because you can't ride the big rides at the amusement park.”

“You're such a dick,” she grumbles, and he lays a hand on the back of her head and pulls her into a kiss. 

“Come here...” he tangles his fingers in her hair, drawing her face down onto his chest. 

“You're lucky I love you,” she says.

“Yeah,” he grins. “I am.”

“I know things have been hard lately. I know you're struggling, Tyler. And I don't pretend to know what's going on in your head. And you're not exactly the most forthcoming person about those things...”

“I hate living like this,” he confesses. “I hate being like this. I hate being the way I am.”

“That's a start. What way? What is your brain telling you to say?”

“That's the problem. It doesn't know what it wants to say. There's all kind of things running around in there and then I think I have them sorted out but when it comes down to actually saying them...”

“It's like the words don't match up with what was in your head?”

He nods. 

“The doctor said it would happen. From the blood loss and the lack of oxygen. You coded three times in the OR. They almost didn't get you back the second time. He said you'd have days like this. Where things don't make sense.”

“But it's not days. It's weeks. It's months. It's years.”

“And then there's days and weeks and months where you're fine and your brain cooperates. So...”

“It's getting worse,” he admits. “The traffic jam in there. There's days I can't even think straight.”

“They said it could happen. That it could be progressive.”

“So what? I end up a complete fucking vegetable by the time I'm fifty?”

“There's therapy you can get. Meds you can take. Things that will help. You're not going to end up a vegetable. They said early onset dementia. Maybe. It doesn't mean it's going to happen.”

“I don't want any more meds. I'm on meds for pain, meds for inflammation, meds for depression, meds for anxiety. I'm fucking so sick of having to drug myself up just to get out of bed in the goddamn morning. Just to function at fifty percent.”

“You're way too hard on yourself,” she laments. “You've come a long way, Tyler. Think of where you were five and a half years ago. Hooked up to machines keeping you alive. You've come so far and you keep getting better and I love you so much and I'm so proud of you.”

He hears the emotion in her voice. The truth in every word. “I don't want to end up not even remembering you or my kids,” he says. “I don't want to end up that bad. Like a fucking infant. Where I don't remember this. This life. You and I. I don't want to end up like that.”

“You won't,” she assures him. “We won't let things get that far.”

“Because I'd put a gun in my fucking mouth and spare you and the kids.”

She heaves a heavy sigh. “That's not going to happen and you know it. You're so strong, Tyler. Stronger than you ever give yourself credit for. I'm not giving up on you. So why would you give up on yourself?”

“You have way too much faith in me.”

“And you have way too little,” she places her chin on his chest once again, reaches up to push his hair out of his eyes. “We're in this together. I'm not going anywhere. And I'm not letting you go anywhere either. I know how much you hurt. Inside and outside. And you know I'd do anything to take that all away.”

“Yeah...” he combs his fingers through her hair, loops strands behind her ears. “...I know you would.”

“Just let me love you,” she says. “That's all I want. It's been five and a half years and sometimes you still won't let me in.”

“It's not you. Believe me. It's not. And I'm glad you stuck around. On that bridge.”

“I wasn't leaving you there, Tyler. I wasn't going to just let you die because you felt you had nothing left. Because you felt you didn't deserve to live. Now look. Look at all the reasons you have for sticking around. Four very important reasons that love you beyond all comprehension. If you don't stick around for me, at least do it for them. They need you. More than I do. They need their dad. And they're going to need you even more as they get older.”

“Why are you talking like it's just going to be me? Like I'm going to be the only one raising them? Are you planning on going somewhere or...” he lets the words trail off. He can't bring himself to even think it, let alone say it. The thought of her not in his life...in their kids' lives...is too agonizing to bare.

“I don't mean it in a fatalistic way. I mean, in general. They're boys. They're just little right now but one day they're going become young men and they're not going to want to go to mommy with everything. They're going to want their dad for that stuff. There's things that you'll be able to handle a lot better than I will. Guy stuff. And I swear to Christ if you die on me and leave me to talk about masturbation and condoms and all that, I will dig you up, bring you back to life, and kill you all over again.”

He chuckles. “Can we not even talk about these things right now? I am totally not prepared for any of that stuff.”

“You had to talk about that stuff with Ovi.”

“That's different. He's not mine. He's not my blood. When I think about talking about those things with my kids...the kids I helped make...well I'd just rather not.”

“It's going to happen. You're going to have to explain wet dreams and morning wood and why they have to wrap it before they tap it and...”

He groans. “Can you not? Can you not bring this stuff up?”

“For a man that's so into sex and so comfortable and confident with his own sexual abilities, you'd think you wouldn't be such a prude.”

“I'm not a prude. I just don't like thinking about my sons that way. They're four years old. The other one's just a baby still.”

“You're right. Millie will get her period and a boyfriend and want to go on birth control before any of that happens.”

“For fucks sakes,” he grimaces. “That's even worse to think about.”

“She's going to be a heartbreaker you know. With those eyes? She's going to be beating the boys off with a stick.”

“Esme...please...”

“She gets it from you, you know. She's going to be so smooth with the boys.”

Sighing, he shakes his head.

“I know she's your little princess. That she's a daddy's girl. But one day you're going to have some boy coming to you wanting to marry her.”

“Fuck that. I'm saying no.”

“And she's going to be madly in love with him and there's not going to be a thing you can do about it.”

“I can lock her in her room. Until she's thirty.”

“And then she runs away with him?”

“Do you forget what I do for a living? There wouldn't be anywhere she can hide where I won't find her. Where I won't find him and beat his ass.”

“Baby...” she's grinning as she sits up, tucking her hair behind her ears. “...your little girl is going to grow up whether you like it or not. And she just may bring someone home that is exactly like you.”

He frowns.

“That's not a bad thing!” she scolds. “I think she'd be lucky to find someone like you. If someone came into her life and reminded her of her daddy. Because you're so good with her, Tyler. You're so good with all of them. You're strong and you're patient and you just love them so much. You're so different when you're at home. When you're not on the job.”

“Is that bad or...”

“It's good,” she assures him with a smile, and then leans over him, pressing a soft, sweet kiss to his lips. “It's so very good.”

****

It reminds of him being back in high school; when he'd show up at his very first girlfriend's under the guise of doing homework together and instead they'd spent the entire time making out on the basement couch. Clothes remaining on the entire time, yet working yourself into a sweat trying to get each other off as quickly and successfully as possible. Only now there's no worry of parents suddenly deciding to come down and check on things. No annoying little siblings to ruin the mood. 

There thrill is still there though. The burning desire that sits low in your groin and the small of your back, just waiting for the chance to explode. Aggressive, hungry kisses; tongues deep in each others mouths, hands pulling at clothes to get them out of the way. And his mouth is on the side of her neck...sucking and biting and licking...when his fingers find the button on her jeans, snapping it open and then sliding his hand down the front of them. 

She gives a long, content sigh when the tips of two fingers rub against her; teasing through the thin cotton of her panties. 

“Feel good?” he asks, beard scrapping against the skin of her throat.

“So good,” she replies, her voice soft, dreamy. Totally lost in the moment. 

It's so simple yet so erotic. Their fully clothed bodies rubbing against each other, the long, deep, toe curling kisses, the ragged breathing, the exploring hands. And a whimper leaves her when he rubs at her clit, still not removing the barrier of fabric. 

Her hands slip up the back of his t-shirt; fingers and palms travelling over the muscles in his back, finding the various scars that mar his skin, tracing the Nordic tattoo that sits between his shoulders. Sliding around to his sides; nails lightly dragging down his ribs, one hand sliding to his stomach to trace the outline of his ab muscles while the other moves to his belt. Effortlessly unbuckling it, then making short work of the button and zipper. And he groans against her neck when her hand slides into his boxer briefs when he feels those cool, soft fingers made contact with his cock. He's painfully hard; and her fingertips trace every vein along the shaft for her hand closes around it. 

“You feel so good,” she whispers into his ear; breath warm and hot. And he shudders against her when she traces the outer edge with the tip of her tongue and her teeth nip at the lobe. “You feel so good, Tyler.”

The way she says his name. With that hint of desperation and need. And he pulls back to look at her; her cheeks flushed, hair falling into her face, breathing ragged. Pressing a series of soft, short pecks to her lips before his mouth moves along her jaw and down onto the side of her throat. Fingers pushing aside the damp crotch of her underwear, two finger tips pressing against her clit, the sensation making cry out and arch her back. 

“Oh god...” she whimpers, when he nips along the soft skin of her throat, biting down with more pressure just as he slides his fingers inside of her. Pushing them as far as they possibly can go. And her free hand tangles in his hair as the other begins to work in earnest; jerking him off in a slow, steady past that his shaking against her. 

“Fuck...” he breathes against her collarbone, stunned by how quick she's able to get such a powerful reaction out of him. Normally he's able to hold it together longer; his stamina far surpassing hers. But he's already on edge; that familiar tightness gathering in the pit of his stomach and the small of his back. “You are so good at this...” he manages through gritted, teeth, heading falling forward and resting on her collarbone. “...so fucking good...” And he knows there's a pleased, victorious grin on her face. It's very rare that she gets to hold all the power. 

He increases the speed and power behind his fingers; determined not to come before her. His eyes, teeth clenched, mentally chasing all thought of completion out of his mind as he concentrates on pleasing her. Rubbing his thumb against her clit; fast yet smooth circles that has her whimpering and squirming and closing her thighs in order to increased the sensation. He kisses her; skimming the tip of his tongue along the roof of her mouth, pulling her bottom lip between his teeth and biting down ever so slightly. Fingers fucking her hard now, until she's a begging, pleasing mess and her hips are matching every moment. 

“Come for me,” he whispers into her ear. “I want you to come for me.”

That's all it takes. The sound of his voice partnered with the movements of his fingers and tongue. Her entire body arching off the bed and his name erupting from her lips.

He licks and sucks her fluid from his fingers, then slips them into her mouth. Allowing her to taste herself. “See how good you taste?” he asks. “So fucking good. You wonder why I like going down on you so much. That's why.”

Her eyes never leave his as she sucks on his fingers; his cock growing impossibly harder. And even through the convulsions and contractions that the aftermath of her orgasm leads behind, she still continues to torture him. Her hand tight around his shaft, moving slowly up to the head and back down again. Repeating the simply yet torturous movement until his head falls forehead to once more rest on her collarbone. Eyes closed as he gives in the sensation being created by that small, soft hand.

He's dangerously close. And this isn't how he wants it to end. “Stop,” he says, and reaches between them to still her hand. “You're gonna make me cum.”

“That's the point,” she retorts, and attempts to push his hand away.

“Not like this. I don't want to cum like this. I want to come inside of you.”

She removes her hands from his pants and wraps both arms around his neck, pulling him into a long, deep kiss. Her tongue pushing past his teeth and into his mouth as he hurriedly pushing his jeans and boxers over his hips and down his ass, until they come to rest just bellow his knees. Not even bothering to remove her underwear entirely, just shoving the crotch aside and pushing into her with one strong, solid thrust.

“Tyler...” she's gripping at his hair again, nails painfully digging into his scalp. “Fuck me. Please fuck me.”

He gives her what she wants. What he needs. All the frustration and the worry of the day pouring out of him through every hard, bruising thrust that he unleashes on her. The fabric of her underwear rubbing against his balls and adding an even heightened sensation. And he continues to fuck her until she's once more coming undone; crying out into his mouth as he kisses her, her entire body tensing against his. And the squeezing and the pulsating of those internal muscles bring on his own orgasm. Hips snapping forward and pressing into her; a long drawn out 'fuck' tumbling from his lips as he releases inside of her. Hot, thick spurt after spurt of cum. Her wet, tight pussy milking him over every ounce. 

She wraps her arms around his neck and holds him close; keeping him as deep as possible inside of her. His head resting in the crook of her neck, chest heaving against hers. It takes several minutes for him to recuperate, pulling away and smiling down at her as he presses a series of feathery pecks to her lips. 

“I love you,” he breathes. “So much.”

She smiles, then places a hand on the back of his head and encourages him to nestle her face against her neck once more.

“I love you, too.”

*****

He lies there for several minutes, enjoying the feeling of her fingers in his hair, the press of her warm body against his, the smell of sweat and sex that lingers in the air. Until she begins to squirm underneath him; smaller and lighter body unable to bear his full weight any longer. And he gives her one last kiss before rolling over onto his back. Exhaling deeply, draping a forearm over his eyes, other hand sitting on his stomach.

“You okay?” she asks, an amused tone to her voice. “You were a little...unhinged...there...”

“Too rough?” 

“No. You never are,” she says, and presses a kiss to his cheek. 

He highly doubts that. Sometimes he isn't aware of his own strength and power. And he's seen the bruises he's left behind on some occasions. 

“You were perfect,” she assures him, and places a kiss on his shoulder before laying down beside him; her hand resting over his. “You always are. That's one thing I've never had to worry about. Teaching you how to do things. You just knew. Right from the very beginning.”

“You were a good student. You made my job easy. There wasn't much you weren't willing to try.”

“I even let you go where no other man has gone before.”

He smirks. “Third night in. That has to be some kind of record.”

“For you?”

“For any guy. It's not that...popular.”

“Well, in all fairness, it's an exit only for most people.”

“Fuck sakes,” he chuckles. “Really?”

“I'm just saying,” she laces her fingers through his, and he removes his arm from over his eyes and wraps it around her. Dropping a kiss on her head, resting his hand on her shoulder. The white gold of his wedding band cool and smooth against her skin. “We should go out,” she suggests.

“Where? We're not supposed to be seen together, remember?”

“It sounds so scandalous, don't you think? Like we're up to no good? Like I'm your side piece or something.”

“You can pretend to be anything you want if it turns you on,” he teases.

“You're too good at what you do. I don't need to pretend to be anything. But we should. Go out. Like a date. When's the last time we went out on a date?”

He honestly doesn't remember. Did they ever really date? At least in the true sense of the word? Dhaka was all sex. Pure and simple. It wasn't exactly the time or place to start a relationship. And then he'd been in the hospital and recovery for months and she'd been pregnant with Mille. After that they'd just thrown themselves into marriage and raising a family. 

“You were pregnant,” he says. “With Millie. Like, almost fully pregnant.”

“I was a beached whale,” she laments.

“You were beautiful. I mean, you always are. But you're even more beautiful when you're pregnant.”

“You're biased.”

“Maybe a little. But it doesn't mean it isn't true.” There's something about it; watching the person you love grow bigger and bigger with your child. Feeling the baby move and kick inside of them. Knowing what it's doing to their body but they selfishly make the sacrifices in order to bring another human being into the world. A human you had a hand in creating.

“Maybe the last one will be another girl,” she muses.

“Why would you wish that kind of hell on me? Isn't one enough?”

“You are an incredible girl dad. You're a great dad to begin with. But you're amazing at taking care of a little girl. There's something so cute about it. You're this big, strong, powerful guy and you're right in there doing her hair and putting her in dresses and all kinds of other stuff no one would expect a guy like you to be doing.”

“She's my daughter. Why wouldn't I do it? I do draw the line at the tiara though. She hasn't broken me yet.”

Esme laughs. “Oh she will. She has you wrapped around her little finger. Since the moment she was born and you held her first and she looked up at you with those big blue eyes and stopped crying.”

He smiles as he remembers that moment. When the nurse had placed the newborn in his arms with a “Here's your little girl, daddy.” He'd already been reduced to tears by that point; he'd been on tour in Iraq when Austin had been born, and he'd never thought he'd get a chance to have other kids. So being there...seeing his child brought into the world...had been an overwhelming experience. And Millie had looked up at him with those eyes...his eyes...and the second he spoke to her, stopped crying. That was it. She's had him wrapped around her finger ever since.

“Another girl would be nice,” Esme continues. “There is way too much testosterone in our house. You've got enough testosterone for everyone. You'd think that would be enough. But your sons are just like you. Even Declan. Minus the hair.”

“I still can't quite figure that one out. Strawberry blond how?”

“Genetics, I guess. Everyone in my family is dark, so it came from your side somewhere. You were pretty fair haired as a kid and you have a lot of red in it even now. I guess things could go a little wonky and we could get a strawberry blond kid out of it.”

“A little wonky,” he chuckles. “You're a little wonky.”

“You married me so what does that say about you?”

“That I'm a glutton for punishment?”

“Baby, I'm the best thing that's ever happened to you and you know it.”

“Yeah...” he grins. “...you are.”

“It would be nice, don't you think? Having another girl?”

“Define nice in this situation. I already have my hands full with the two females I already have in my life. Why would you want to add another one? Why would you do me like that?”

“You can bitch and moan and all you want. But you love having a little girl. You can go around pretending to be all macho and tough and all that, but deep down, you love having a female that bosses you around and runs the show.”

“I'm confused. Are we talking about Millie or you now?”

“She is far more bossy than I am.”

“Where do you think she gets it from?”

“Oh please, Tyler. You are the bossiest or all the bossy people. You are the boss of them all. The CEO. Don't play innocent. If you're not in control of every single situation and thing that goes on, you can not deal with it. You are way worse than I am. Don't even try and deny it.”

He considers it. “Okay. I'll give you that.”

“She is totally your child. Head to toe. Inside and out. They all are. Which just burns my ass. How did all four end up being just like you? I don't understand it. Even with Declan's hair, he still looks just like you. How did this happen? How did I do all the work and every single one come out looking like you and acting like you?”

“Strong genes.”

“Extremely strong genes. Maybe you used up all your genes on the first four and the last one will come out looking just like me.”

“Why would you wish that on the poor kid?” he teases.

“You're an asshole,” she grumbles, but then laughs when he playfully tousles her hair. “I'm telling you right now though, if we end having another set of twins, I will castrate you. I'm not even joking. That will be it for you. You'll be getting this...” she holds up her hand, mimicking scissors opening and closing. 

“I already said I'd get the snip after the last one. No need to threaten cutting the whole thing off. We still want to be able to have fun, yeah?”

“Good point,” she says, and settles her head against his chest once more. “I do think you should take me out on a date though. I mean, we'd have to drive pretty far to get to a place where no one will recognize you.”

“That's no big deal.”

“Is that a yes? Are you succumbing to my female wiles? Did you just agree to take me out on a date?”

He grins and presses a kiss to her forehead. “Get dressed.”


	31. Chapter 31

“You know...” Esme says, a glass of white wine pressed against her lips. “...under different circumstances, this would have made a pretty good honeymoon.”

They'd made a forty-five minute drive to a small town that sits on River Lagan. Far enough away from Belfast that Tyler is able to let his guard down. He's much more relaxed; nerves not as raw, anxiety no longer running on all cylinders. The worry is still there; he still observes the crowd and keeps an ey out for anything or anyone that seems even remotely suspicious. Guys like McMann have connections; their circles are enormous and their resources seemingly endless. He'd crossed a line earlier; gone way beyond just scaring the other man into giving him information. The rage had been intense. Uncontrollable. Five and a half years of holding back all the emotions that he'd been carrying with him since Dhaka had finally come to a head. And he was certain that if Mark hadn’t have been there, Michael McMann would have met his fate.

Now thoughts turn to possible revenge. McMann could have it if he wanted. Tyler knows that. He wouldn’t do the dirty work himself; he’d recruit a gang full of buddies to catch him when he was alone and vulnerable. Or he’d skip going after him and resort to escalating things further; going after Esme and using her as a pawn to get to him. She’s his weakness; it’s no secret. Quite possibly the one person alive that is capable of truly destroying him. 

Intentional or not.

He’s kept a close eye on her. Either tightly holding her hand while strolling the small downtown area or keeping an arm around her shoulders and her pulled tight into his side. Trying to tone down the over protectiveness that she often complains about it. She feels he’s ‘over the top’. That his need to keep her safe and sound borders on an unhealthy obsession. Viewing it as controlling. Suffocating. A sign that he sees her as an object that he needs to keep tucked away from the rest of the world to avoid having her cracked or broken. Tyler doesn’t consider it a bad thing; she’s the love of his life, his wife, the mother of his kids, what was so wrong with wanting to make sure that she was safe?

It is a bone of contention between them,and has been for the past five and a half years. The cause of over ninety percent of the fights they get into. One of the main reasons behind their trial separation. She’d been sick of being treated like a possession and even more fed up with always being put second to the job. It had felt as if she were the only one putting in the effort when it came to keeping their marriage from falling apart; his long, frequent absences creating a wedge between them, turning her bitter and angry, tired of living a single parent life when there was no reason for it.

The environment had been extremely toxic. He’d come home after two weeks away and they couldn’t hold even the simplest conversations without it turning into an argument. And then the mud slinging would begin. Trying to out do one another with the stinging, hurtful comments. The kids began to feel the tension; sleep issues, tantrums, regression in milestones. And that’s when she’d had enough. Kicking his ass out and issuing an ultimatum: their family or the job. 

In the end they’d ended up coming to a compromise. When she’d called him in the middle night after months of being apart and told him that she missed him and wanted him to come home, Tyler had been determined to make things right between them. He agreed to go to counselling. Swore off the heavy drinking that he’d began to use as a crutch. Would only take a certain number of jobs a month. Two weeks on, two weeks off. It had been a hard sell to Nik; she wanted him available at a moments notice. If the phone rang in the middle of the night, he was expected to not only pick up, but pack his shit and get to wherever she needed him to be. It had been a long fought battle against her but he’d finally won. Reminding her that his family was his priority and always would be, and that he wouldn’t think twice about walking away entirely and leaving her high and dry without enough team members. He could find other work. There were other people looking for guys with his particular skill sets. Ones that offered a higher cut when it came to payouts. After all, he was well known. A legend of sorts. And there wasn’t a boss out there that would turn him away.

“I thought we were going to Niagara Falls,” he chides. 

They’ve talked about it a handful of times; he always opted for a tropical destination while she insisted on Canada. Not that he has anything against the country or the people itself, but the idea of the perfect honeymoon did not include tacky museums and a huge waterfall. He wanted the beach. The ocean. One of those cozy cabana style suits built right on the water. Five years ago they’d never gotten the chance to have a honeymoon; he’d been recovering, she’d been pregnant with Millie. And once they moved to Colorado they’d been too caught up in being married and raising a family.

“We could always do a week there and a week where you want to go too,” she suggests.

“Yeah? And who watches the minions?”

“Grandma is stepping up lately. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind. Don’t you think it would nice to get away? Just the two of us? We’ve never been able to do it before. I think we deserve it. Especially after all this is over.”

He doesn’t disagree. The Belfast job has already been a major shit show and they aren’t even close to the finish line. But even this is nice; this small break from the job. Just the two of them hanging out on a restaurant’s outdoor patio; fresh air, a view of the river. Doing normal couple things like engaging in flirtatious chit chat, sharing little looks and smiles across the table, holding hands on top of it while browsing through their menus.

“We have to work on us too,” she reasons. “We exist outside of being parents.”

“I thought that was what all the sex was for,” he teases, and she rolls her eyes. “We’ll talk about it when we get home,” he promises, and squeezes her hand. “Let’s just get this over and done with, yeah?”

“The sooner the better,” she sighs, and he nods in agreement. 

They settle into a comfortable silence; eyes on their menus, fingers still intwined, his thumb continuously rubbing across the top of her hand and the side of her wrist. He’s missed this. The little moments. When they’re just Tyler and Esme and nothing else seems to matter. It’s been a long time since they’ve been in that place. Somewhere along the line they’d manage to lose that connection; the one that exists outside of sex. Where they exist solely for each other and their identities going further than just being parents.

“So what was that text messages about?” he asks. “’We found something’. What is something and who is we?”

“Before I tell you, you have to promise me you won’t freak out.”

Tyler’s eyes narrow. “What did you do?”

“Do you really have that little faith in me? I haven’t done anything. Well, nothing too bad, anyway.”

He’s starting to wish he hadn’t sworn off booze for the evening.

“Yaz and I went to McMann’s house. He jammed the security system so it wouldn’t go off once we got inside.”

“How did you even get in there in the first place?”

She swallows a mouthful of wine. “Yaz picked the lock.”

Tyler sighs. “So you committed B and E, basically.”

“Technically, yes. But it was for a good reason! Nik’s been dragging her heels when it comes to getting in there and we’re running out of time so I just figured if he was able to both guarantee we wouldn’t get caught and could successfully pick a lock…”

“How’d you know McMann didn’t have guys watching the place?”

“Well…we didn’t…”

Another sigh.

“But we were really careful,” she assures him. “We kept an eye out. We didn’t see anyone hanging around and we were definitely not followed, so…”

“So you broke into his house and…”

“Stole his mail.”

“Excuse me….what?”

“I went through his mail,” she confesses. “I admit, not one of my finer moments.”

He smirks. “You think?”

“But I did come across something. All of the something’s. Including a notice of assessment in regards to his last income tax return and a couple of utility bills. But…”

“Esme…please…I love you, but let’s not turn this into a ridiculously long story that you could have told me in two sentences. What did you find? While you were snooping.”

“I wasn’t snooping. I was looking for clues.”

Tyler stares at her pointedly.

“Okay, so I was snooping. But it paid off. I came across a letter. Handwritten. Snail mail. I think it’s from Heather McMann’s grandmother in New Zealand. Something about selling the business and how it’s sad things have come down to this.”

“So?”

“So it shows that there’s still ties to the family in New Zealand.”

“Which we already knew because McMann told us,” he reminds her. “But go on.”

“Maybe there’s some kind of connection. Between the business and whatever is going on here.”

“You’re reaching.”

“Anything is possible,” she argues. “You should know that. Is it really that far fetched considering how crazy and twisted this all all been since the very beginning?”

She has a point.

“It wouldn’t hurt. To check out the grandmother. To see if she knows anything.”

“Get Yaz on it. You’ve got enough going on. And the last thing I need is you running off to New Zealand and something happening while I’m thousands of miles away. So that’s it? You found a letter that may or may not mean something?”

“Oh there’s more,” the excitement is evident in her voice; sparkles in her eyes. “While I was investigating…”

Tyler clears his throat.

“Snooping,” she corrects herself. “I found this.”

She grabs her phone off the bag of her chair and pulls out her SAT, thumbing through the pictures until she finds the one she’s looking for, then holds the phone out to him.

He removes his sunglasses, hooking them onto the neck of his grey button down shirt, then takes the phone from her. Hair tumbling across his forehead and into his right eye as he studies the image on the screen. “What am I looking at?”

“It’s a chair.”

“I see that. Why am I looking at it?

“It matches the one that is in the photos that you got delivered to your old hotel room. The ones that Erin…or whoever the hell she is….brought. In the pictures, the McMann kids are restrained in those foldable metal chairs. But Heather is in a wooden chair. That looks antique and is in impeccable condition. Weird, right? Why are the kids suffering while she gets the comforts of home? Normally the adults get treated worse because they can take more punishment. See the cushion…” she stands up and leans over the table, using her thumb and forefinger to zoom in on the photo. “…I am fairly certain it matches the one in the pictures you go.”

His eyebrow arches. “Fairly certain? We need more than fairly.”

“Well there’s no way of telling for sure until I compare it to the photos. But I’m at least ninety percent sure.”

“Ninety?”

“Okay, so maybe seventy five, eighty. But I did my research on this chair. It belongs to one of only twenty five dining room sets made in New Zealand in the early nineteen twenties. It’s a mixture of cherry wood and gum wood. Extremely rare. The set comes with six chairs but there’s only five at the McMann house.”

His eyebrow arches once more, nodding slowly as he listens to her.

“Now I don’t know how he wouldn’t notice that one of the chairs are missing. I haven’t even stopped to consider that. But doesn’t it seem a little too coincidental, Tyler? That one of the chairs is missing. Heather McMann was restrained to an exact match…or at least close to it…and she’s from New Zealand where the chair originated from and where her grandmother owns a store?”

“What kind of store? Do we know?”

“Second hand stuff. Mostly clothes and small household wares. But there is a section at the back that has rare pieces. Antiques. Come on. I know you’re Mister Pessimistic, but even you have to admit this all tied together in some way. “

“I’m not pessimistic. I’m realistic. What’s the chances that any of this is connected? We’re going to put all of our hopes into a chair? One that you just admitted you aren’t one hundred percent sure even matches the one in the photos I have. And even if it is the same chair, what does it prove? How does it help us find those kids?”

“It will prove that Heather McMann is running the show. That she’s in on it and not the helpless victim that she is pretending to be. Which means we can focus solely on her and digging up her skeletons. If we can one hundred percent pin this on her, we can track down her whereabouts through colleagues. Her grandmother. There’s no way someone doesn’t know where she is. And Yaz said there’s no women’s clothes in the master bedroom and no woman’s things in any of the bathrooms.”

“So she wasn’t living there.” Tyler concludes. “Which means she didn’t go missing at the same times as the kids.”

“Probably because she’s the one that came into the house and took them. There were no signs of any struggle. Those kids weren’t taken out by force. They went willingly. And who would they trust enough to just wander out of the house with them?”

“A parent.”

“Exactly. If you were to wake Millie up at two in the morning, telling her that there was somewhere important you needed to take her, she wouldn’t argue with you. She trusts you. She has faith in you. She knows that you wouldn’t hurt or take her into a situation that could hurt her. She’d just go. And I think that’s what happened here. She wasn’t living at the house, came back in and convinced the kids to leave with her.”

“But who was staying with them? If she wasn’t living there and McMann wasn’t home at the time, who was with the kids? Were they alone?”

“Maybe things didn’t happen the way he’s telling you. Maybe he gave a fake timeline. I mean, he has been lying to you from the very beginning. What if she came in in the middle of the night? She’d have a key. She knows the code for the security system. If McMann was sleeping, she could have easily snuck in, went upstairs, woke the kids up and took them out of the house. It had to be her. If it was a stranger, the kids would have kicked up a fuss and he would have heard it and put a stop to it. Our kids don’t even like when strangers talk to them in the grocery store. They would not go quietly if someone woke them up and tried to convince them to leave. Mille would be liable to punch them in the throat and then scream for help. I mean, she kicked the shit out of Tyler and you know how he’s a little hard ass. If there was ever a kid to be named after his father, it’s that one. You have to admit; this is all starting to make a lot more sense than it did yesterday.”

“It still doesn’t explain why she would do it,” he holds the phone out to her. “We still haven’t come across a motive.”

“Money. Revenge. Maybe there’s a custody thing going on? Maybe she stands to lose custody of the kids so she concocted this elaborate ruse to make her husband look like he’s unfit?”

“That’s pretty goddamn sick don’t you think? To go to that extent? You saw the pictures. What those kids are going through is real. It’s very real. What kind of mother would do something like that? What kind of parent would even think of a plan like that? Never mind actually following through with it. Letting people do shit like that to their kids.”

‘Well she’s obviously fucked in the head. And he’s no prize either.”

Tyler gives a derisive snort. “In the pictures I have, you can see brick walls. Pipes. No windows.”

She nods, sips her wine. “Like an industrial building. Or a basement.”

“Did you guys check the basement? At McMann’s place?”

Esme nods. “It’s fully finished. No exposed brick, no wires, no pipes. Nothing.”

“But did you check the whole thing? Every inch of it?”

She frowns. “What are you thinking?”

“When I was growing up, my grandparents lived in an old farmhouse. It had a storm cellar. That you could only access from outside. Inside, there was no sign of it even existing. Did you or Yaz go into the backyard? Is there anything like that there? Any stairs leading underground? Any door that doesn’t lead directly into the house?”

“We never thought of doing that,” she admits. “We were so focused on looking around inside.”

“We need to go back. To McMann’s place. First thing tomorrow. We need to search it again.”

“What about McMann? He’ll be home. How do we get him out of there so he doesn’t know we’re going on?”

“I’ll put Yaz on that. He’ll figure something out.”

“You think that’s where the kids are? In their own basement?”

“Maybe not the kids. But maybe that’s where Heather McMann has been all this time. This is all just a big fucking game to her. One big sick and twisted fucking game.”

“But where are the kids? We’re not closer to figuring out where they are. And that’s all that really matters right? Those kids and getting them the hell out of there.”

“We find her, we find the kids.”

“What makes you think she’s going to tell us where they are? If she’s this hell bent on destroying her husband…”

“There’s ways of making people talk. You of all people know that. You spent years getting people to talk.”

“I didn’t have to resort to torturing them or beating the hell out of them, though. That’s what you’re suggesting right? Force it out of her? By all means necessary?”

He nods. “If that’s what it takes.”

*****

After dinner they take a walk along the river, in hand, enjoying the sunset and the cooler temperatures, immersed in conversation that for once didn’t involve the job or the worries and questions surrounding it. A normal couple out for date night; light hearted teasing, flirtatious comments, sweet stolen kisses. As if five and a half years hadn’t gone by and they were still immersed in that ‘getting to know you stage’. Where everything your partner said or did was the most incredible thing you could ever imagine. They’d never had that. Not really. They’d been robbed of that stage. The second Fahrad had put the bullet in Tyler’s neck, it had altered every single aspect of their lives. 

The small talk that couples indulge in while learning everything there is to know about one another had taken place in a hospital room or during the walks they’d take around the hospital grounds once he’d been strong enough to do so. Or on the drives to various therapy appointments or consults with surgeons. And then she’d found out about the baby and they’d decided to speed things up; finding an apartment to call home, having a quick and private wedding with only six people in attendance. After that everything seemed to fall into place and break neck speed; the second trip to Dhaka and their eventual guardianship of Ovi, having to move into her parents, the twins arriving a month before their sister turned one. There’d never been really alone time. Quality wise. Those quiet moments where you discover things about one another that you’d either never noticed before, had previously overlooked, or had taken for granted. Their lives had revolved around being parents. Nothing more. Nothing less.

So this is nice. A chance to for them to reconnect. Outside of sex. Even if…in reality…their relationship has always revolved around it. Right from the very beginning, when they’d been unable to keep their hands off of each other in that dirty hotel room in Dhaka. Sex was their ‘thing’; something they were both great at. An escape. A way to make one another feel good. Many a fight has ended because of it. Problems solved because with the sex came those quiet, relaxed moments afterwards when they actually took the time to talk to one another. But intimacy involves more than sex, and both of them had been craving it.

“There’s something else I need to tell you,” Esme says, as they slowly walk back towards where they’d left the SUV parked by the restaurant. His jacket draped over her shoulders to ward off the chill in the air, his arm loosely draped along her shoulders, hand on her upper arm. 

He sees the way people look at them; easily amused by the thirteen inch height difference. They’re an odd couple; she’s short and petite and fragile looking, while he’s tall and broad shouldered and heavily muscled. Powerful. Intimidating, even.

He frowns. “I can tell by that tone in your voice it’s something I’m not going to like.”

“You have to promise me that you won’t lose your shit. That you’ll hear me out. No matter how crazy it sounds to you. Can you do that? Keep your shit together long enough to hear everything? Because I know what you’re like, Tyler. You react first, think later. And I need you to do the opposite this time.”

“Well considering you told me an hour ago that you broke into someone’s house and stole their mail, I don’t know how worse things could possibly get.”

“You might regret saying that. Because this is just a tad worse.”

He arches an eyebrow.

“Okay, so maybe it’s a lot worse. But it’s for the job. Strictly for the job. So I can get information and we can start piecing everything together and find those kids. So keep that in mind. That what I’m about to tell you is strictly business and it is solely a means to an end.”

“Should I be sitting down for this or….?”

“Maybe? Yes?” she chews nervously on her bottom lip. “Yes. Definitely yes. You might be a calmer if you’re sitting down.”

“Esme…I swear to Christ if you did something stupid…”

She grabs a hold of his hand, tugging him towards the nearest empty park bench. “You should really sit,” she encourages. “You’re more relaxed and less likely to tear someone a new asshole when you’re sitting.”

Sighing heavily, he reluctantly takes seat.

“Okay…first thing is first…” she begins, as she sits beside him, turning to face him, legs folded underneath her. “…I love you. More than I ever thought I could love another human being. So much that is physically painful sometimes. You’re my husband and my best friend and my lover and my most steadfast supporter and the father of my kids and…”

“This is going way worse than I thought it would.”

“…and I need you to know all of that. It’s important to me that you know all that, okay?”

“Okay. And I love you too. But you’re honestly starting to freak me out a bit here.”

“Second, this is solely for the job. Just like all the other times in my past where I had to do some questionable things to get what I wanted. I’m only doing this because there’s information involved. And people that possibly have even more information. Time is running out and we really need to find those kids before it’s too late. You trust me, right?”

His eyes are narrow, brow furrowed. “To be honest, I’m not one hundred percent sure right now.”

“You remember that bartender? From the pub the other night? The one I convinced that I’m a reporter? Well he called this morning and wants to get together. He has info for me. And names. People that are higher up the food chain than he is. People that can give us a lot more than he can.”

“That sounds like a good thing. Not a bad thing. So what’s the big deal? You go back there and talk to him. Simple, yeah?”

“No. It’s not simple. It’s crazy and it’s messed up and you’re going to flip your shit for sure. He thinks I’m single. I told him that I wasn’t married anymore and that I was separated and not getting back together with my husband. My pretend husband. Not you obviously. My fake one. So now he thinks this is a date. Me going to see him. He thinks it’s an actual date.”

He laughs at the sure ridiculousness of it. “A date? Like for real?”

“It was the only way I could get information out of him. I had to make him think that I was available. And interested. To get him to let his guard down. So he called and asked me over there…to the bar…for dinner and drinks. And I know I probably should have ran this by you first, but you’d already left and I didn’t want to call you and bother you with it, so I said okay.”

“You said okay to going on a date with another guy.”

“It’s only a date in his mind. Not mine. So technically…”

“So he thinks he’s going to be on a date with you.”

“Pretty much. You’re too calm. You’re not freaking out. This worries me. Why are you so calm?”

“Trust me, internally? I’m not calm. Not the least bit calm. Not in the slightest. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I had to get him to trust me. To get him to let his guard down,” she attempts to reason. “This isn’t the first time I’ve had to do something like this.”

“All those other times you weren’t married. You were single. Do you not see why this is a problem? Why you agreeing to this is probably the most fucked up thing I’ve ever heard? You want me to be okay with you going on a date with another man.”

“It’s not a date. At least not in my mind. I’m just using him. To get what we need.”

“There’s other ways. To get what we need. This? This is fucked up. Beyond fucked up. How do you not see a problem with this? How do you not see how messed up this entire idea is?”

“Okay, your face and your voice are relaxed but your words are saying an entirely different thing and it is really freaking me out. Can you maybe not internalize so much? I think I like the Tyler better that just flips his shit and that’s that.”

“You told me this…in public…so I wouldn’t freak out. Now you want me to freak out?”

“I’m just used to you being...I don’t know…you.”

“Jesus Christ…” he mutters, and running and rakes a hand through his hair, then runs the palm over his face. “Of all the stupid shit you’ve said and done in the past five and a half years, this is the winner right here.”

“We’re running out of time, Tyler. The clock is ticking. If we don’t find those kids soon…”

“You don’t need to be going on a date to find the kids. Like what the fuck, Esme?”

“It isn’t a date,” she insists. “Maybe in his eyes and mind it is, but to me it’s just a job. It has no bearing on us. On our marriage. It’s not like I’m going out there to intentional cheat on you. I’m doing this as a means to an end. That’s it.”

“There’s other ways. To get information. Without having to whore out yourself to some fucking loser.”

She frowns. “That was super harsh, Tyler. You’re blowing this way out of proportion now. This guy has information that we need. He has names of very important people with even more information. People with connections. This is the one chance to get what we need. It’s business. That’s it.”

“And when he expects more than dinner? What then?”

“I tell him to fuck off and I leave. You honestly don’t think I’d go that far do you? Give me some credit.”

“Would you want me doing this? Going out with some other woman?”

“If it’s for the job…”

“Fuck the job. There’s lines that you don’t cross. And you’re crossing it. Big time.”

“And you didn’t cross it when you called me asking for help?” she challenges. “And you didn’t cross it again by putting me in charge of watching your ass? I’m not G. I’m far from being G.”

“Well he’s not exactly here, is he.”

“You crossed the line first. When you brought me into this bullshit, Tyler. I was perfectly happy staying at home and taking care of kids. Our kids. You’re the one that called. Not the other way around.”

“I needed your help.”

“And this is me giving you my help. This is what I used to do. I spent years lying to people. Getting them to open up to me and trust me.”

“Was I one of those people? In Dhaka? Did that all start out as bullshit?”

“I can’t believe you would even say that. Everything that happened there was real. I never once lied to you and you know it. So that’s pretty low, Tyler. Even for you.”

Sighing heavily, he places his elbows and stares at his hands. All the callouses and scars, the misshapen and swollen knuckles from years of breaks and sprains. And he fidgets with his wedding ring; using his thumb to twirl it around his finger. A nervous habit. Or an angry one. His shoulders are tight; tension spreading through his entire body. Eyes dark and stormy. That vein in the side of his neck throbbing; the thick yet short scar clearly visible. A long lasting memento of the one bullet that had nearly ended his life. 

“You’re taking this way too personally,” she says.

“And you’re not taking it personally enough.”

“You’re not looking at this objectively. This is all about the job. That’s it. I’m going in there to get the information and then I’m getting the fuck out. I’m walking out of there and I’m coming back to you. To my husband. That’s it.”

“And I’m just supposed to be okay with it? You and another guy?”

“There’s no other guy. There will never be another guy. There’s only you. I’m not going in there with feelings for him. I’m going in there because we need to find those kids and he may be the only one that can help us. Aren’t you sick of this? Playing these fucking games? Constantly hitting brick walls? I want to go home, Tyler. I just want to go home and see our kids. And right now it seems like we’re just getting further and further away from getting there.”

“This isn’t the way. Sending you in there. With a guy that thinks he’s on a date with you. What if he expects more? What if…?”

“I know how to say ‘no’. I would never….ever….do something like that. And the fact that you even think I would…”

“Doesn’t mean he won’t force you to do something. You go in there alone, with no backup, and he has you right where he wants you.”

“I’m capable of dropping a guy that needs to be dropped. I know how to kick someone in the nuts. You need to trust me. I know what I’m doing. I go in there, have dinner, a drink, get what I want and get the hell out. That’s it.”

“Things are never that easy and you know it.”

“Tyler…” she lays a hand on his back; between his shoulders, moving in slow, comforting circles. “You need to trust me. You trust me enough to watch your back. You should trust me enough to do this.”

He sighs. “I don’t like this. I don’t like the idea of you going in there. Alone.”

“Yaz says there’s ways to keep an eye on things. Or an ear on things, I should say. I can wear a wire. You guys would be able to hear everything that gets said. You could wait outside somewhere and listen in. That way you’d know if I was in trouble or not. You want me to have your back? Well now I need you to have mine. No matter how uncomfortable the situation makes you.”

He inhales sharply, exhaling as he shakes his head. “This is messed up. It is so beyond messed up. How did this happen? How did things get this fucked?”

“How did things get fucked in Dhaka? They just did. At least this time we have a chance to prepare for the shit show. We’re not just getting tossed into it. Maybe that’s the only good thing about how slow things have been moving. We actually have time to breathe and think things through.”

“I feel like I’m going nuts. I feel like I’m losing my mind. It’s just so twisted and crazy and I’m starting to think my brain is just making half this shit up to fuck with me.”

“Unfortunately, it’s very real. And I hate every damn second of it. But we need to stick together. We need to trust each other. We’re stronger together than we are apart. We always have been.”

He nods in agreement.

“I love you, Tyler. Deciding this? To go about things this way? I didn’t do it to hurt you. I would never hurt you, you know that. And I love you and I just want to go home.”

“So do I,” he says, and wrapping his arm around her shoulders, pulls her tightly into him and presses a kiss to her forehead. “So do I.”


	32. Chapter 32

His eyes flicker open as she returns to bed; lifting the comforter ever so slightly -even the smallest of movements or the faintest of noises often enough to snap him awake- as she slides in next to him. Tucking her back snuggly into his front before pulling the heavy blanket up to her chin. She’s unsettled ; unable to get comfortable, readjusting her pillow several times; repeatedly sticking one foot out of the covers before drawing it back in, continuously rubbing her ass against him in a vain attempt to find just the perfect spot in the mattress. He presses a kiss to the back of her head, then loops his arm around her waist and drapes a heavy, muscular leg over hers. Effectively stilling her movements and providing that weight and pressure that she often craves when having a rough a night. They’ve been few and far behind over the past three years; the Dhaka nightmares rarely making an appearance, and relatively tame when they did. Nothing like she used to experience. That first year following had been rough; there had been more restless nights than there had been good ones, and he’d gotten used to having to calm her down after the nightmares.

“What time is it?” she asks, and he lifts his head just long enough to cast a quick glance over his shoulder at the digital clock on the nightstand.

“Almost five thirty,” he replies, and then tightens the hold on her body and buries his face in her hair. Eyes closing as he takes in her soft, familiar scent. Body soft and warm against his. “Go back to sleep. Lots of time left before we have to get up.”

“I can’t,” she laments. 

“Just try,” his hand moves in slow, smooth circles against her stomach. “Just close your eyes and try.”

“I honestly can’t. I’m too busy worrying about when and if I’m going to puke again.”

“That’s like the fourth time this week alone. Maybe…” his hand slides down a bit further.

“That’s wishful thinking on your part. There is nothing…or should I say no one…in there yet. We just started trying two weeks ago. There hasn’t been enough time for things to develop. There’s no way I’d be feeling anything this soon.”  
“Just because we weren’t trying before that doesn’t mean it’s not possible. You don’t have to actually be trying for it to happen. We never tried with the other ones. None of them were planned. And it’s not like we just started having sex in the past two weeks. We’ve always had it. A lot.”

She can’t deny that. It has always been a huge component in their relationship. Right from the very beginning in Dhaka; two relative strangers that couldn’t seem to keep their hands off of each other, both igniting something in the other that had been missing for a hell of a long time. And it is the one thing that they’re good at. No…scratch that. The one thing they’re amazing at. Even when things were rocky between them, sex had been the one constant. All the harsh words and the brutal arguments forgotten the second they were behind closed doors and they were able to take their anger and aggression out on one another. 

“I am definitely not pregnant,” she says. “I’d know. I think I’m used to it by now.”

“You’ve been throwing up all hours of the day for four days. You’ve been complaining about headaches. Dizziness. That you can’t sleep. That sounds exactly like everything you’ve ever experienced.”

“It’s not the same. I know my own body. I know what it feels like when there’s a baby inside of me. This is not it. This is stress and worry and the fact I miss my kids and I want nothing more than to get home to them. That I’m thousands of miles away from them. From my babies. When there could be some sick fuck just out there watching them and waiting to hurt them….”

“That’s not going to happen,” he pulls her even tighter against him. “There is no one after them. There’s no one waiting to hurt them. And even if there was someone out there, they’re safe. They’ve got Nik and her guys there keeping an eye on things. No one would even be able to get close to them.”

“And they were okay? When you called today?”

“They’re fine. They’re being spoiled rotten and enjoying bossing your mom around and driving her insane. Maybe this will be what she needed to snap that last thread of sanity. Mine snapped a long time ago. The second I had to read fucking Goodnight Moon six times in one night.”

“I thought it was Paw Patrol that did that. That stupid theme song over and over again. Remember how Tanner was obsessed with it and he’d make you put it on repeat on your phone? I think you aged about ten years in those six months. And let’s not even talk about the great potty training fiasco.”

“No. Let’s not talk about that. I may have a nervous breakdown if I have to relive that. You think I have PTSD from the job? No. It’s from having those two. Especially Tyler. What the fuck is up with that kid? Some kind of imbalance from your side of things? “

“Please. He’s just like you. He’s wild and uninhibited and fears nothing or no one. Good thing he was the one that came out first. Because it totally makes sense that he’s a junior. He’s the one that you’re really going to have to keep an eye on when he’s older. He wanted to be just like you before he found out that fight bad guys and save good people. How he think you’re some kind of super hero and wants to be one when he grows up.”

Tyler gives a derisive snort. “I’m no hero.”

“To him you are. To all your kids you are. To me you are.”

Lifting his head from his pillow, he presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “I just do what I’m paid to do. Nothing more. Nothing less. And it’ll be a cold day in hell when I sit back and watch any of my kids follow in my footsteps. They’re better than that. They’re better than this life. And they deserve better. No way am I letting any of them do what I do.”

“You know…” she rolls over to face him, chest pressed against his. “…you’re not the horrible person you think you are, Tyler. You’ve helped a lot of people. You’ve gone into some dangerous and scary situations to get peoples’ loved ones back. And that’s pretty damn selfless when you think about it. That you’re willing to put your life on the line to save someone else’s.”

“It’s not selfless when you’re doing it for money.”

“What about Dhaka?” she challenges. “When you found out that Mahajan fucked us over? When you knew there wasn’t going to be the pay out that you expected? You still did everything you had to do to keep Ovi alive. Even when Nik wanted you to just leave him in the street. Even when Gaspar was going to split ten million dollars with you. You still didn’t abandon or betray that kid. And that is selfless. You were willing to die for him. You were willing to die for me.”

“I still am. I’d do it in a heartbeat if I had to. No questions asked.”

“You’re a big man with an even bigger heart. I’m blessed because I get to see that side of you. I get to live with it every single day. You’re not a terrible person, Tyler. You’re a great person that’s been forced to do terrible things.”

He thinks of his loss of control the previous afternoon. When something inside of him snapped as soon as McMann put his hands on him. How easy it would have been just to kill him. With his bare hands. He’d known what he was doing; it wasn’t one of those ‘black out’ moments when he lost his shit and didn’t realize what was happening. He’d been fully aware of what was going inside his own mind; of the power and strength that his body possessed. And yet still he hadn’t been able to stop.

He’d wanted to kill him.

“And they were terrible things…if you want to call them that…that you had to do to stay alive,” Esme continues. “So you could make it back home. To me and the kids.”

“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do so I could make it home.”

“You don’t kill because you want to. Or because you enjoy it. You kill because you have to. And believe me, I’d rather you take someone else’s life than have them take yours.”

He smiles at that, then presses a soft, tender kiss to her lips. He wants to tell her. About how the plan to intimidate McMann into giving him information hadn’t gone exactly as planned. That he’d come so close to making things a hundred times more complicated by killing the man. That he’d felt a rush at what he was able to do; seeing the colour drain out of McMann’s face, hearing him gag and choke and struggle to breathe, the sheer terror in his eyes. But it would scare her. He would scare her. And that’s the last thing he wants.

“You have to promise me that if it comes down to saving yourself or saving the, that you’ll choose yourself,” she pleads. “I know that sounds horrible. It know it makes me sound like a terrible person that I’d even think that, let alone say it. Especially because they’re children and I’m a mother myself. But Tyler, if you have to make the decision, if it comes down to only being able to get yourself out, you have to promise me you’ll do it. That you’ll get the hell out of there. Because I need you. And your own kids need you.”

Sighing, he smooths her hair away from the sides of her face and away from her forehead. “That’s not the job.”

“Fuck the job. Fuck the money. I don’t care about that. All I care about is you. And believe me, I don’t want it coming down to having to leave the kids behind. But if it does, you have to promise me that you’ll worry about yourself first. Because I’m not ready to lose you yet. It’s only been five and a half years. That’s nowhere near enough time.”

Pressing his lips against her temple, he lays a hand on the small of her back and draws her even tighter against him. Chin resting on the top of her head, eyes closed. “I’ll get myself out of there. I promise.”

He feels her smile against him, and she nestles her face into his neck, lips against his throat. The hand that had been on his back sliding up to the space between his shoulders, fingertips tracing the outline of the large Nordic tattoo that graces his skin. 

“Now it’s my turn,” he says. “To tell you something.”

“Something bad or….?”

“It got me thinking. About when you said you were worried about me going to meet McMann alone. Because we didn’t know for sure if he was on the up and up. He can’t be trusted. He’s shown that time and time again. So I called someone. For help. That would have my back.”

“I thought Nik said there wasn’t anyone that could help? That the three of us were pretty much on our own. And if Yaz was with me…”

“I called Mark,” he admits, and she draws back to look at him. “Which I’d never thought I’d ever do in a million years. But you were worried and it got my brain fucking with me and I didn’t want to take the chance that it was all a set up. He’s the only one there was. Trust me, I would have called someone else if I had the choice.”

“And he actually showed up?”

“He’s not my favourite person and I know I’m definitely not his. But he did what he said he would do. He’d said he’d show up and he did.”

“Well, one thing he always was a good solider. When it came down to protecting other people, he was loyal to a fault. I wasn’t one of those people, mind you. “

“Which is exactly I didn’t want to call him. Because of everything between you too. And I still want to kick the shit out of him, just so you know. But I needed someone to keep an eye out. Have my back if I needed it. And he did. He showed up and he kept an eye on things. He keeps his word, that’s for sure.”

“Until you’re married to him. And then his word means shit.”

“Well it’s a good thing I’m not into guys and I’m already married,” he teases, and kisses her softly. “I almost killed him.”

“Who? Mark?”

“McMann. I went into just wanting to scare the hell out of him. Put enough fear into him that he’d crack and give me the information I needed. But things went south. Quickly. And if Mark hadn’t have been there, this entire thing would have been well and truly fucked. I would have screwed everything up. It would have fucked things up even worse and made things even harder.”

“Tyler…” her eyes narrow, brow furrows. “…what did you do?”

“It’s what I almost did. Everything went fine. At first. I caught him off guard and scared the ever loving shit out of him.”

“Physically?”

“Well, yeah. That’s how I do things. I’m not a psychological warfare master like you are. I go in and fuck shit up and I leave. So I went there to scare the shit out of him and it worked. It was the last thing he expected and he almost pissed his pants.”

“But…” 

“But I fucking snapped. When he started to retaliate. I lost my shit. Completely lost it. I almost killed him. I almost choked him to death. And you know what? I wanted to do it. I knew exactly what I was doing and I didn’t want to stop. I wanted him dead. And part of me still does.”

She falls silent. Slightly unnerved by his confession. He’s not usually the type of person that revels in the chaos and violence he finds himself embroiled in. He doesn’t take pride in having to take the life of another; a burden that has always weighed heavily upon him. Killing for him is…and has always been…about survival. Self preservation. No matter how much he hated someone, how badly they’d betrayed him, no matter how perilous the danger was they brought upon him, he ever revelled in the fact that he’d had to resort to such drastic acts.

“I knew exactly what I was doing. I didn’t black out. My brain didn’t zone out. You know how it goes completely blank and I don’t realize what I did or said until later? When it all starts coming together?”

She nods. They’ve had many fights just like that. Where something inside of him has snapped and he’s been fully unaware of the things he is doing or saying. 

“That didn’t happen. I was in total control. I knew what I was saying. What I was doing. I had my hand around his throat and I watched him struggle to breathe. And you know what, I liked it. I like that I had that power over him. I didn’t want to stop. I wanted to kill him.”

Her eyes are sad as she reaches up to clear his hair away from his forehead. 

“Don’t like at me like that.”

“Like what? I’m just…”

“Like it makes you sick to look at me.”

“Tyler…” she pecks his lips. “…I could never look at you that way. Your brain is telling you that I’m looking at you that way. Trust me, I’m not. I understand where you’re coming from. He lied to you. He’s been lying right from the start. He brought you into a crazy messed up situation. Which in turn brought me and the kids into it. Of course you’re going to be upset. Anyone would be.”

“But like that? To lose control that bad? That’s not me. When I snap, I don’t remember the things I said or the things I’ve done. I’m not aware of it at the time. I just lose it. I don’t think about it. This was different. I knew exactly what I was doing and I knew I didn’t want to stop. I wanted him dead.”

“Is he still walking around and breathing? Is he still on this side of the ground? If you can answer yes to any of those questions, you were able to control things. A lot of people wouldn’t have been able to.”

“Mark stopped me. He’s the one that stepped in. If he hadn’t have been there….”

“But he was. He was there to protect you. To stop you from making things worse. I know he’s not your favourite person. And trust me, he’s not mine either. But he at least showed up. He could have just said ‘fuck you’ and not bothered. But he was there and he stopped you. That’s the important thing. He stepped in and McMann lives to see another day. Which means those kids live to see another day.”

“Do you realize how worse I could have made things? Or how bad things might get? What if he decides to try and take me out…or have someone else try and take me out…because of it?”

“He won’t. He needs you. He knows he won’t get his kids back without you.”

“He could come after you. Or send someone after you.”

“He’s not that stupid. He’s a liar and a sexual deviant, but he’s not stupid. If he did something like that, you’d know it was him and he realizes that. Which only puts an even bigger target on him. He’s crazy, but he’s not that crazy. And lets look at this from your side of things. He lied to you. Right from the beginning. He brought you here because he wanted you to blow things up and cause all kinds of shit and then take the fall for it. And then he brings your family into it. Especially your kids. Anyone would snap over that.”

“I’m not anyone,” he argues.

“You’re a goddamn human being. You’re not a machine. You have feelings, you know. You have moments of weakness and anger and everything in between. You have to let yourself feel things, Tyler. No matter how much it unnerves you. It doesn’t make you weak because you have weak moments. That’s all in your head. That’s your father’s doing; putting it in your head that any emotionally based reaction makes you less of a man.”

“Are you sure you weren’t a shrink in your previous life?” he grins. “Because that sounds like something a shrink would say.”

“I don’t need to be a shrink to know that your dad is quite possibly the most toxic person I’ve ever met and he had no right trying to raise you to be just like him. And I meant what I said. You’re nothing like him. You never will be. So you need to let go off all the shit that he’s put on you in the last forty years. Get all that crap out of your head. Because you’re a far bigger and better man than he could have ever hoped to be.”

“You really do have a lot of faith in me.”

“I do,” she admits. “And trust. And love. I happen to love you, you insufferable pain in my ass.”

“I bet right about now you’re thinking that’s the worst decision your brain ever made.”

“Actually, it’s the first time I ever let my heart overrule my brain. And I think things worked out okay.”

“I do too,” he says, and the kisses her. Much longer this time yet still as tender; closed mouth upon closed mouth, her nails lightly scraping down his back. And he pushes his hand through her hair; gently gripping the silky strands between his fingers as he feels her tongue pushing against his teeth. He grants her access. The kiss deepening, one of her legs coming up to wrap around his waist, heel of her foot pushing into his ass. Allowing himself to pulled on top of her. Letting her take the full burden of his weight for several seconds, until he plants a palm on the mattress and lifts himself off of her. 

“Are you okay?” she asks. “I mean are you really okay? Not just with what’s going on. Not with just this job. With everything. With life. Are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” he admits.

“Well, what do you know? What is your brain telling you?”

“That I’m fucked up and I need professional help.”

“That’s something we can work on. When we get home. I think it might be good for both of us.”

“It’s telling me that things are getting worse. I’m getting worse. The memory problems, my temper, all the pain.”

“And that scares you,” she states.

He nods. “I’m worried one day I’m going to snap like I did on McMann. That you’ll say something totally innocent and that my brain will take it the entirely wrong way and I’ll just lose it. And I don’t want that happening. I don’t want to be reacting towards you the way I did with him.”

“You won’t.”

“How can you be so sure? How can you have that much trust in me?”

“Because you know I’d kill you,” she’s only half joking. “You know I would beat the ever loving crap out of you. And I know you’d take it because you’d hate yourself for hurting me and you’d know you deserved a shit kicking.”

“I’d kill myself. If I ever hurt you or the kids. I’m not joking. I’ll end it if I ever get to that point.”

“You won’t,” she assures him. “You won’t let yourself get to that point. I know you won’t. It’s not that I have an extra ordinary level of faith and trust in you. It’s because I know who you really are. The kind of person you are when you’re not on the job. I’m the only that gets to see that. Experience it. You’re not a bad person, Tyler Rake. No matter what your brain tells you.”

He kisses her again. Longer. Most intense. His free hand tangled in her hair, tongues in each other’s mouth. Her hands beginning that slow, methodically exploring of his shoulders and back. And she giggles against his lips when he presses his already rock hard cock against her.

“Can you tell what my brain is telling me right now?” he asks with a grin.

“That’s not your brain talking, Tyler. Unless your brain packed up and moved south.”

“What do you think is sending the messages down there?”

“No. No. I think it pretty much think on its own when it gets to this point,” she says, and then laughs and wriggles underneath him when he sucks a little too hard on the side of her neck. “I swear to God if that leaves a mark….”

“What are you going to do about? You weigh a buck fifteen soaking wet.”

“Asshole,” she grumbles, and then grabs a hold of his hair and yanks painfully hard, using his initially startled reaction to get her knee into his stomach and push him over onto his back. “You were saying…” her grin is wicked as she straddles him.

“That doesn’t count. I let you do that.”

“Mm…hmm….” She leans over to press a series of kisses along both sides of his throat, over his Adam’s apple and across his collarbone. “What’s your brain telling you now?” she asks with a grin, his hands on her thighs, fingers biting into the fresh.

“My brain’s clocked out. I’m only listening to my dick now.”

“Yeah? And what’s that telling you?”

“That it wants to put a baby in you.”

She grins. “Very good answer.”

****  
“You guys are good to go,” Yaz says, over the two way radios they each wear in their ear, the transmitters clipped to the hip pockets on their jeans. They’d been expecting his call; parked half a block away from McMann’s house, engine idling as they waited to be given the all clear. “He left ten minutes ago. Satellite isn’t showing any other cars or warm bodies within a half a kilometer radius on either side. There’s no one watching the house.”

The ruse had worked; Mark calling McMann and arranging to meet him half an hour away to ask him more questions in regards to the wife’s background and her possible hand in snatching the kids. Depending on how the ex Marine could stall for, it gave them at least ninety minutes to search the property without worrying about McMann showing up unexpectedly. The radios would make communication a lot easier; Yaz could use remote satellite links and neighbourhood security cameras he’d hacked into to keep and eye on the outside and alert them if any possible trouble was on the way.

“Make sure you guys keep in contact with me. And each other if you get separated for whatever reason. I’ll keep an eye on the outside. You guys do what you have to do inside. Good luck. Hopefully you find something.”

Tyler kills the engine and shoves his keys into his pocket. It’s safer to walk; less chance of anyone spotting the unfamiliar vehicle in McMann’s driveway and alerting either him or the cops. They pause at the back of the car and he pops open the truck; a handful of weapons and other paraphernalia hidden under the false floor. Including a smaller sized Kevlar vest that he removes, tearing open the Velcro fasteners and then holding it over her head.

“Arms.”

“This is going a little overboard don’t you think?” 

She’s nervous enough without thinking about what the bullet proof vest represents. While going into the house the first time had been anxiety inducing, the second time has her feeling nauseous. Her nerves are on edge and have been since his confession that he’d wanted to kill McMann the day before. It was something she’d never thought she’d hear; that he could actually get joy out of taking another human being’s life. It was acceptable when he had to do it; killing a means to an end, ensuring his own safety and survival. But to hear that he could have easily done it and have no lingering remorse. He didn’t scare her; he’d never given her a reason to be afraid of him. But she was scared of what the lingering effects of years on the job and PTSD were doing to him.

“Arms,” Tyler repeats, and she obeys the requests. “It’s just better to be safe than sorry,” he reasons, and then pulls the straps tight around her sides and across the chest. 

“In that case, you should be wearing one too,” she points out, as he removes the transmitter from her pocket and then clips it to her left shoulder.

He sighs. “Don’t start.”

“I wouldn’t be the only one they shoot at if someone shows up,” she says, as he clips his holster -Glock already securely inside- to his waistband. “How come I don’t get one? How come you get all the cool toys?”

“I’m the muscle, remember? You’re the brains. It’s always been that way. It’s why it works as well as it does,” taking her face in both his hands, he presses a kiss to her forehead before adding, “Why we work so well.”

“Holy shit, you’re actually admitting it for once. That we make a good team.”

“When have I ever denied that? We make an amazing team. Even way back when in Dhaka.”

“You mean when you thought you were my boss and completely ordered me around?”

“Well, technically, I do have more experience so I was…in a way…in charge.”

“Still delusional. Even five and a half years later. That’s okay, baby. I’ll let you think you’re the boss. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“Let’s compromise. You can be the boss at home, I’ll be the boss when we do things like this, yeah?”

“Okay,” she relents. “I’ll give you that. But only because of your fragile masculinity.”

He snorts.

“So who’s the boss in the bedroom then?” she inquires, as they fall in step alongside of each other. 

“You have to ask that? It’s me. It’s always been me. Because that’s the way you like it. Don’t tell me you’re going to pretend that it isn’t. That you don’t like when I get all mean and shit and boss you around and pull your hair.”

It’s the farthest they’ve taken it; aside from extremely rough sex. Her penchant for ‘fuck me like you hate me’ sex has been an ongoing and much enjoyed by both of them for five a half years now. He draws the line at anything more intense; refusing to call her degrading names or using any other kind of physical force. He’s much bigger. Far more powerful. And often didn’t have a grasp on just how strong he actually is. And the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her.

“I can’t believe we’re even talking about this right now,” she laments.

“Yaz can’t hear us unless we press the button. So…”

“No I mean talking about this like there’s nothing majorly serious going on here. We’re talking like it’s just another day and we’re talking just a normal walk somewhere. It’s kind of….weird.”

“What are we supposed to talk about?”

“I don’t know. Something job related.”

“We can talk about that shit when we actually get to where we’re going.”

“Do you think he can pull it off? Mark? Do you think he can actually spew enough bullshit to stall McMann long enough for us to get a good look around and get the hell out of there?”

Tyler shrugs. “I don’t know. He spewed enough bullshit to me when he came to our house. If he puts even half the effort into McMann that he put into me, he could be holding him off for hours. He really think’s highly himself, yeah? Mighty big chip he has on his shoulder.”

“He’s actually pretty tame now. He was worse when I first met him and married him. Shit! Dog walker.”

An elderly woman crosses the road and makes her way towards them; a yapping and feisty toy poodle on the end of a retractable leash.

“She’s going to see the vest. She’s going…”

“Just relax,” Tyler says, and then pulls her into a long, deep kiss, both arms wrapped around her slender body, drawing her tight against him and effectively hiding any sign of the Kevlar from the other woman. Who merely calls them ‘kids’ and grumbles about the inappropriateness of their very public display of affection. And he keep as a hold on his wife as he watches the elderly woman and dog continue on their walk. Never given them a second glance over her shoulder and then disappearing around the corner.

“I’m impressed,” Esme grins, as they continue on their way. “Very effective. Nice thinking on your feet. You kiss everyone you work with like that?”

“Only the cute, tiny brunettes,” he says, and gives her a playful nudge with his elbow.

“Go through here,” Yaz’ voice comes through their ear pieces. “There’s an alley way between the back of this house and the back of McMann’s. There’s a gate to his place. Can’t tell if it’s locked or not. Someone may have to hop the fence.”

Tyler looks at his wife, eyebrow arched, amused smirk tugging at his lips. 

“Why are you looking at me like that? Why would it have to be my job?”

“Because you’re smaller and can probably climb it a lot faster than I do. Come on. Take one for the team. You climbed the fence when we were at Mahajan’s place.”

“Only because Ovi was too scared to do it. You’ve got longer legs. It would take you less time to get over it.”

“What’s the saying? Good things come in small packages? You might taste better to the guard dogs and keep them occupied while I get in, get what we need, and get out.”

“You’re such a dick,” she grumbles, and he playfully tousles her hair and then takes her by the wrist, pulling her backwards and tucking her behind him. If there was anyone watching them and waiting to ambush them from the alleyway or McMann’s backyard, at the least the bigger and stronger one would the first person they’d encounter. He stood a better chance at fighting someone off than she would.

They make it through the backyard of the first house; bypassing an inground pool and an elaborate guest house, then stepping through an unlocked wrought iron gate. The squeak accompanying it seeming a hundred times later than what it should normally. Trash and gravel crunch and pop under their feet; the alleyway in such a high class and influential area at look more disgusting that they’d thought it would be. 

“No lock,” Tyler says, as he tests the latch in McMann’s gate. “Looks like you don’t have to work too hard today. Sorry. You don’t get the chance to commit B and E again.”

“You’re just full of smart ass comments today,” she mutters, as he holds the gate open for her and allows her to pass through before once again stepping in front of her. And she takes the opportunity to smack his ass. Painfully hard. Both hands. “Nice bum where ya from?” 

“What are you? Like twelve?” he’s grinning at he says it. 

“Not my fault you have a crazy hot ass. This was place is insane…” she takes in their surroundings; an enormous kidney shaped inground pool with a twelve person hot tub and smaller pool solely for swimming laps alongside of it. Immaculately landscaped grass and garden areas, outdoor showers, a guest house, a three tiered wooden deck, even an area that boasts an outdoor kitchen and living room space. Immaculately landscaped grass and garden areas. “What kind of jobs is he taking that he can afford to live like this?”

“All this is not from the job,” Tyler says. “There’s no way. You know what kind of payouts you’d have to be pulling in to not only afford all this but keep it up? There’s no way you’d be able to do all of this and take care of it just being on the job.”

“Maybe it’s her money,” Esme suggests. “Old family money. The Buckmans were into some pretty shady shit. They have been for decades. Just what are we looking for?”

“An entrance. Something that leads into a bunker or a cold cellar or a storm shelter.”

They split up; each taking a side of the house and working from the very back of the yard and moving slowly towards the deck. Shoving furniture aside, kicking away piles of loose grass and debris that could possibly be covering up a doorway. The possibility become more and more remote the closer they get to the rear of the house; turning their attention to the sides.

“Tyler!” Esme whispers, sticking her head around the corner of the house. “I think I found it.”

He keeps an eye on the surroundings as he joins her; eyes surveying the windows, not just of McMann’s house but his surrounding neighbours. Making sure that someone hadn’t heard them moving around the backyard and were now peeking out from behind curtains and through the slats of mini blinds.

“This?” Esme asks hopefully, and nods down at wooden double doors that sit flat against the grass. “Is this what we want?”

“Exactly what we want,” he replies. “Good job, babe.”

The smile says it all. The way she happily gives a little bounce on her heels.

“Shit. Locked. Go and find a rock. About this big…” he makes a circle with his hands, roughly the size of a baseball. “…or anything else I can use to break it open.”

“Shoot it,” she suggests. “You have a gun.”

“You don’t think someone will hear a gunshot and call the police?”

She frowns. “Very good point.”

“Make sure you keep an eye out. For anything. For anyone. We don’t know for sure that there’s no one watching. Just be careful.”

She nods, and then hurries off around the corner and into the main area of the backyard. He stands; hands on his hips, eyes sweeping back and forth between the windows of adjacent houses, the back alleyway, and down the narrow path between this home and the next.

“Here,” she says as she returns, with one of the bricks that she’d pried out of the dirt; being used an ornamental border around one of the gardens. “I didn’t see or hear anything weird. You?”

“Nothing,” he takes the brick from her, then crouches down in front of the doors. “Give me the sweater.”

She shrugs out of her hoodie…his hoodie…and passes it over. Whether it’s nerves or the slight breeze in the air, she crosses her arms over her chest and rubs at her bare arms in an attempt to warm them. 

“Here,” he slips his gun from his holster and holds it out to hear. “You see anyone come down this path or come in from the alley, you shoot them. Don’t ask questions. Just shoot. Got it?”

She nods.

Tyler lays the sweater over the lock, muffling the sound as he smashes the brick down on top of it. The first one breaks the dial, while the second causes not only the entire lock to shatter several into several pieces, but tears off one of the door handles.

“Please tell me you brought a flashlight,” Esme laments, as he opens the doors. “Because this has shades of disgusting Dhaka sewer written all over it. It’s been five and a half years and that smell is still stuck in my nostrils.”

“Wait here, keep an eye on things, and I’ll tell you when it’s okay to come down.”

“What if someone is down there?” she frets. 

“I have a gun,” he motions for her to hand the Glock over. “They probably don’t. So it’ll be okay. Just wait here. Don’t go anywhere. Don’t go around snooping or whatever you want to call it. Just stay here and don’t move. Anyone comes in the yard, just yell. I’m not going far. I’m just looking to see if there’s electricity down there.”

She stands at the top of the stairs, chewing nervously on her bottom lip, once more folding her arms across her chest as she watches him journey down the stairs and then disappear into the darkness. She can hear the faint drip of water, the rustle of the soles of his boots as he passes over dirty and whatever debris may be down there. Then furtively glances around the yard and down the path towards the road, then to the back alley and up into surrounding windows. Breathing a sigh of relief when a light flickers on below. 

“Be careful,” Tyler says, as he stands on the second bottom step and offers a hand. “The stairs are steep as shit.”

“What’s it smell like?” she asks, as she curls her fingers around his hand. “Because the last time you made me go into a place like this, I threw up in my mouth. A lot.”

“It smells damp. Like a basement. Doesn’t smell like shit. And there’s no rats. So….”

The cellar is impossibly narrow; he has to turn slightly to the side, shoulders too broad to fit in the space, and a protective hand falls on the small of her back, guiding her in front of him. The walls are brick; cracked and faded in some spots, weeds and mould growing in some of the crevices. Floors are a mix of dirt and concrete; cracked and worn in a number of places. Above them, bare light bulbs hang from a single strand of wire.

“It goes pretty far back,” he nods down the hallway. “There’s a couple of rooms off of it. Might be more.”

“It’s like some kind of bunker,” she observes. “What the hell have we walked into?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “But lets get to work.”


	33. Chapter 33

“Do you smell that?” Esme wrinkles her nose in disgust. “It smells like...”

“Death,” Tyler finishes for her. 

“If we find a dead body down here, I am the first one running out screaming. I did not sign up for this.”

“I doubt it's a person. Probably an animal that got caught up in here and couldn't get out. How the hell were you ever in the Corps? Did you never see dead bodies and other gross shit when you were overseas?”

'That was almost fifteen years ago. I don't remember. I've had four kids. I have mom brain. I can't even remember what I had breakfast this morning never mind what I did fifteen years ago.”

“This one time, in Kandahar, on my third tour, we were on patrol and a guy three people in front of me stepped on a landmine and ended up in about a hundred different pieces. Nothing like being handed a shovel and a garbage bag and being told to clean up the mess.”

She makes an audible retching noise. 

“Jesus Christ,” he grimaces. “Don't do that. You know that noise makes me puke.” 

“And you're the one with the iron stomach and that is what makes you want to throw up? The sound of someone else throwing up? Yet you can impale someone's face on the end of a garden rake and not even blink?” 

“That was kind of...gnarly...”

She laughs. “You sounded so surfer dude just then. You can take the boy out of the ocean, but you can't take the ocean out of the boy. Oh God...” she draws the front of her t-shirt up over her face when the smell becomes even stronger. “...I am sorry if I throw up on you, baby. This was not a good idea. Bringing me down here when I've been so sick the last few days.”

“Well I wasn't leaving you alone up there, so....” he reaches over her, placing a palm on the first door they encounter and pushing it open. A hand on her shoulder, applying slight pressure to get her to walk in front of him. 

“Oh yeah put me in front so the bad guy gets me first. Thanks.”

“There's no one down here. Just relax. And if anyone comes down here while we're here, they'll come from behind and they'll get me before you. Why else would I do it? Calm down. Why are you shaking?”

“I'm freaking the fuck out. It's like the walls are closing in on me and it feels like I can't breathe. You know I hate tight, confined spaces. Remember the sewer? When I had a panic attack? What did you think was going to happen when you brought me down here? You should have just let me stay up there, outside.”

“By yourself? Fuck no. Just calm down, okay?” He wraps his arm around her, forearm snug against her chest, and pulls her tight against him, dropping a kiss on the top of her head. “Just breathe. Everything is fine. You're safer down here with me than you are up there by yourself. Just breathe.”

She briefly closes her eyes. Inhaling and exhaling slowly. Relaxing in the warmth that radiates off his body and the familiar, comforting scent that clings to his skin and clothes. It is little things like this that puts him in a league all his own; the reason why every man that had come before him no longer matters. The small ways in which he'd show her that he loves her. When he takes the time out of whatever he is doing...no matter how big or how small...to either support or comfort her. Or the way he'll finish household chores without having to be asked. Or when he knows she's struggling to hold her shit together and he'll just throw the kids in the car to get them out of her hair for a couple of hours.

“Good?” he asks, and pressing his lips to her ear. “Calm now?”

She nods. 

“Just take it easy. Nothing is going to happen to you if you're down here with me. Go...inside...” he gives her a nudge in the ass with his knee, encouraging her to step into the room. It's pitch black; even with the light in hall way tumbling in. And with one hand firmly on her shoulder, he uses the other to blindly feel along the wall for a switch. Palm coming in contact with nothing but cold concrete. Relegating himself to using the flashlight option on his SAT. “Be careful,” he says, and hands her the phone. “I'm relying on you to be the eyes here. You trip, I'm going down with you. And that'll hurt. Just a bit.”

“I do not want you falling on me. You'll crush me for sure,” she slowly moves the phone in front of her, casting the light on every available surface. “There's nothing here. It's empty. There's no furniture, nothing on the walls, nothing but dirt on the floors. Not cabinets or counters. Nothing.” 

'How far back does it go?”

“Maybe another five feet? There's nothing back there, either. I don't think anything ever has been in there by the looks of it.”

“We gotta keep moving. There's a couple more rooms...at least...to check out. Turn slowly. Don't elbow me in the face or the nuts. You'd be devastated if anything happened to either. You okay?

“Yeah, I'm okay.” She does as she's told, overly cautious where she puts her foot and how she turns her body. The room is incredibly narrow. Suffocating. And she breathes a sigh of relief when they finally reach the hallway.

“Keep going,” Tyler instructs, hand once more returning to her shoulder; the gentle yet firm pressure keeping her moving. 

Her body is much more relaxed now. Comforted by the strong, solid presence behind her; soothed by his deep voice and the calm yet assertive way he is handling the situation. She's always been the higher strung of the two of them; she's liable to fly off the handle quickly, while he's able to keep his shit together for longer periods of time. There's very few things that send him into an immediate rage. Someone...or something...threatening his wife or his kids being the top culprits.

They search each room with the aide of the phone flashlight, yet find nothing but mould, cement, and dirt. 

“Jesus ...fuck...” Tyler grimaces, the worsening smell even bothering him now; so strong and putrid that it makes him gag and his eyes water. “....I'm starting to think I was wrong.”

“Oh God,” Esme groans. “Please don't say what I think you're going to say.”

“Something's dead down here. But I don't think it's an animal. Put your shirt over your mouth and your nose. It's fucking gross and the last thing I need is you throwing up all over the place. You alright?”

“No...not really...” her voice is muffled by the layer of cotton now drawn over the lower half of her face. “You don't think it's Heather, do you? Or the kids?”

“It can't be the kids. We just got proof of life six hours ago. That smell? Well that's the smell of someone who's been down here a while.”

“I can't do this...” panic begins to take hold, and she digs her heels into the floor with such power and force that he has to put his hand against the wall to stop himself from stumbling into her. “I can't...I can't do this.”

“You're fine. Just take it easy. I'm right here. Nothing is going to happen to you. I won't let anything happen to you.”

“There is someone down here,” she sounds close to tears. “Someone dead.”

“You need to take it easy,” Tyler takes hold of her shoulders, turning her around to face him. “Everything is fine. You're fine. Just breathe. Close your eyes, listen to my voice, and just breathe.”

Her eyes flicker closed as she rests her forehead against him. His voice reverberating deep in his chest as he attempts to calm her, hands slowly moving up and down her shoulders and arms.

“Better?” he asks.

“Yeah...a little...”

“I won't let anything happen to you. You're safe with me. You're always safe with me. We have to keep moving. If there's anything down here, we need to find it now. Mark can't keep McMann tied up all day. You good now?”

“I think so.”

“You take the door on the right, I'll take the left. I'm right across the hall. You need me, just yell. Okay?

She nods.

“You're fine,” he assures her, and presses a kiss to her forehead. “There's just the two of us down here.”

“And whoever that smell belongs to.”

“They're dead. They can't hurt you. Got your phone? You're going to need the flashlight.”

She removes her SAT from the pocket of her jeans and holds it aloft for him to see. “I do not want to walk in there and find a dead body.”

“The smell is coming from the left. I'll take that one. Just try and stay calm and call me if you need anything. I'm less than twenty feet away,” he runs a hand over her hair, then places it on the back of her neck and gives her a quick peck on the lips. “You got this.”

****

This room is much larger than the rest; at least three feet wider, several longer, with water and drainage pipes that run across the high ceiling. Condensation glistens on the smooth concrete walls; water drops splatter on the dirt floor. She moves slowly, shining the flashlight over every possible surface, treading through the small puddles and mounds of left over mud. T-shirt stilled pulled over her mouth and nose; preventing the rancid smell from bothering her. 

The toe of her runner catches something on the ground; creating a crackling noise that seems to echo throughout the entire room.

“What the hell...” she mutters, as the flashlight beam catches a pile of styrofoam containers that have tumbled out of an overturned black garbage bag. And she cautiously hooks a fingers around the edge of the plastic and draws it back, discovering the remnants of wasted food, plastic water bottles, and aluminum pop cans.

She presses the button on the radio, then continues her exploration of the room. “Yaz...can you hear me?”

“Yeah, I'm here. There's a lot of static. You might have to speak up.”

“Someone's been down here. Within the last few days. There's all kinds of garbage. Take out containers, pop cans, water bottles. The food hasn't even begun to rot yet. You need to get a hold of McMann and find out when the last time was that he was down here. Or if he knew of anyone being down here. I don't know how you're going to do it without letting him know we were here, but...”

“I could call Mark. Ask him to casually work it into conversation. Question him about anything weird he's seen going on at the house lately. I'll think of something. You guys okay down there?”

“I think so. Tyler found a dead body.”

“What?”

“Well he thinks it's a dead body. He's in checking it right now. I'm...fuck!” her knee collides with something; so caught up in her conversation and swinging the beam of the flashlight along the walls and the ceiling that she hadn't been paying attention to her surroundings.

“You okay?” Yaz asked. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing's wrong. I just...” her eyes widen as the light falls on the object she'd bumped into, and she runs a hand over the smooth wood, then kicks the toe of her sneaker against the broken zip ties that sit in the dirt below. “...you will not believe what I just found.”

“Another body?”

“No. The chair. The chair from Heather McMann's video and photos. I'm going to send you some pictures. To your SAT.”

“Okay. I'll be waiting.”

She turns the flashlight off just long enough to snap photos; pictures of the chair from all angles, followed by the plastic ties on the ground. Her anger growing stronger with each passing second as the truth becomes all to painful clear. It had all been a set up. Heather McMann had never been a victim. She'd been in on it all along. She'd planned and helped orchestrate a sick and twisted plan to get revenge against her husband that included using her children...who'd she'd nurtured and keep alive inside of her for nine months...as pawns. She let people abuse them. Physically. And there was no telling if she'd let the culprits stop there. 

Tears burn her eyes; hot and angry. And she quickly sends the photos the Yaz.

“Tyler!” she calls. “You need to...” she turns on her heel, only to find him already standing in the room. “Jesus Christ! Would you stop doing that?! Why do you insist on sneaking up on me like that? You scare the shit out of me every time.”

“We gotta get out of here,” his tone is curt. “Let's go.”

“What's wrong? What happened? What...?”

“You remember that girl I told you about? The one that showed up at the other hotel? Gave me all those pictures?”

“Erin Ferguson. Nik wasn't able to track anyone down by that name. She said the last time there was any sign of her was when she left through the hotel's front doors that same night. What about her?”

“That's who's dead in the next room. We need to go. Now. We need to get the fuck out of here before someone shows up. They weren't done yet. I think we just missed them and I think they're coming back.”

“They definitely haven't been gone long. There's trash...” she points her cell phone in the direction of the bag on the ground. “...lots of it. The food isn't even spoiled yet. This is definitely where Heather McMann was kept. Or should I say, she pretended to be kept. The walls are the same as the ones that were in the videos and the pictures. The chair is even here,” she shines the flashlight upon it. “...she was totally in on this. She planned this whole goddamn thing, Tyler. This is all some sick and twisted game. She's using her own kids...” her voice cracks. “....and who knows what she's letting those people do too them.”

“We can't worry about that right now. We have worse shit to think about. Come on, let's go,” he steps forward, grabbing a hold of her by the upper arm and turning her towards the door. “We need to get the fuck out of here. Now.”

“How did she die? Could you tell?”

“Yeah....I could tell...” 

“That bad?”

“That bad,” he confirms. “Just keep going. Walk in front of me,” he steps to the side, back pressed against the wall, pulling her by the arm and placing her where he wants her. “Move. Go. We need to get out of here. Now. Not five minutes from now. Now.”

“You could tell it was her?” she asks, his hand on the back of her neck, fingers digging into the skin. She's never seen him like this. At least not with her. That hurried, almost frantic pace. The harsh tone of his voice. Whatever he'd seen, it had unnerved him, and he was anxious to get away from it. Or get her away from it. If he was alone she was certain this wouldn't be the way he'd react; he'd be calm, cool, collected. It was her presence that bothered him; the thought that if someone did come back, she would be caught in the middle of it. 

“I have eyes. I'm not blind. I could see it was her.”

“I didn't mean it like that. I meant, she still...you know...had a face.”

“It wasn't her face that was fucked up. It was everything else. Just drop it. Just keep moving. I do not want to get caught here. Not when you're with me. I need to get you out of here.”

“Tyler, what....?”

“Just go!” he snarls, and puts even more force into the grip on the back of her neck. “I'm not fucking around, Esme. I need to get you the hell out of here. If we got caught here...if you get caught here...well these people don't fuck around and they won't hesitate doing to you what they did to her. If not worse. So please...let's go...”

She relents, allowing herself to be pushed down the narrow corridor. And at the bottom of the stairs, he pushes her against the far wall, then removes the Glock from his holster.

“Wait here,” he orders. “Don't move. Not even an inch. Just stand there and wait for me to tell you it's okay to come up. Okay?”

“Tyler, what is going on? What did you see? What...?”

“We'll talk about it later. Just wait here. Stay quiet and just wait. Got it?”

She nods, pressing her back against the wall, chewing nervously on her bottom lip as he cautiously climbs the stairs; gun at his side, finger already on the trigger. Her nerves are shot; every bundle and ending completely on edge, a brutal headache beginning to settle in the base of her skull, chest impossibly tight. She's seen him on edge before; in Dhaka, when the threats had been everywhere and he'd been determined to get her and Ovi out of there alive. But this is another level of intense. His prey drive incredibly high, the rage in his eyes accompanied by fear and worry. And for a moment she can actually imagine what those young men...Ovi's captors...had felt like when Tyler had kicked down that door and taken them all down. Successfully. The rage and brutality that they had witnessed him inflicting on others while waiting for their own demise. This is the merciless Tyler. The savage Tyler. The one who will stop at nothing to protect the people he cares about.

“Come on,” he finally appears at the top of the stairs. “All clear. Let's go.”

When she reaches the the middle of the stairs, he offers assistance and she curls her fingers around his, comforted by the sheer size and strength of his hands, of the feel of his callouses against her skin. She is used to those hands; the power wrapped up in them, the punishment they can inflict one moment, and the tenderness they can possess the next. Such a juxtaposition; how someone can go from creating pain fear yet be capable of bringing about so much pleasure.

“We should have parked closer,” he laments, hand wrapped tightly around the base of her wrist, all but pulling her through the yard, her much shorter legs having to work twice as hard to keep up with his long, purposeful.

She can see practically she the wheels turning in his head. She knows he's questioning himself; doubting the decision that he'd made. It was second nature with him. The second guessing that often came with the intricacies of the job. He's always been hard on himself; his own worst critic. Exuding confidence on the outside, but struggling internally. And right there's a thousand and one possible scenarios running through that troubled brain of his. 

“You didn't want anyone to see the SUV in the driveway,” she attempts to reason, knowing full well that no matter what she says, it won't be good enough. Once he's in this mindset...the job mindset...there's no reasoning with him. He becomes an entirely different person; the patience and the tenderness gone, replaced by a different Tyler. The old Tyler. The one that comes out to play under certain circumstances. Who can be brutal and savage and shows no fear. 

“Shit...fuck...” he curses, when a car pulls up and parks alongside the back gate. “...other way...go...move...” he roughly spins her around to face the other direction, and gives a purposeful shove to get her to move. “Don't look back. Just go.”

It's a brisk walk at first, but then the hand around her arm tightens even more; grip tighter, the push behind is more forceful. The grass slick under the soles of her runners; twigs and leafs snapping and crackling with each step. A jog now; a desperate attempt to get away from whoever is now stepping through the back gate, a loud squeak as metal rubs upon metal.

“We gotta split up,” he says, as they reach the front corner of the house.

“What? No. Fuck that, Tyler. We stay together.”

“Go back to the car. I'll meet you there.”

“Are you insane? I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying with you.”

“Esme...listen to me...” his tone is dire, eyes dark and stormy, mouth set in a grim line. “...you need to get back to the car. This is the safest way. It's two blocks south. Just hang a right at the next corner and...”

“No,” she remains steadfast, even as he grabs her hand and aggressively shoves the car keys into it. “I am not leaving you here.”

“These people...those people?” he jerks his head in the direction of the back yard. “They don't fuck around. You don't need to be here. If they get you, you're not going to like where it leads. What happened to Erin? The end result? They'll make what happens before a hundred times worse on you than the did on her. And I do not want that happening to you. You need to go.”

“Tyler...don't do this...please...”

“You go. I need to see who these people are,”

“No! You come with me or we both stay. It doesn't matter who they are. We can find that out later. We either go together or neither of us go.”

“I said go!” he bellows, and pushes her into the into the sidewalk. “Run. And whatever you do, don't look back.”

*****

It's twenty minutes before she sees him approaching the car; watching through the passenger's side mirror as he hobbles towards her. His limp far more pronounced, right forearm across the chest, as if preventing the shoulder from bearing too much weight and strain. His clothes, hands and some of his face covered in dirt and much. And as he gets closer she sees the blood; starting from his hair line and trickling down the side of his face. 

It makes her feel nauseous. Seeing him like that. The grimace on his face, the obvious pain he's in with every stride. It doesn't matter how serious of an injury it is; it doesn't have to be a gunshot wound to the neck that leaves him bleeding out on bridge in Bangladesh. It can be nothing more than a bloody nose or a split lip and it rocks her to her very core. She tosses open the SUV door and jumps out, rushing towards him.

“Tyler...oh my god...what happened? Are you okay? What...?”

He doesn't respond. At least not with words. Instead he takes her face in both hands and kisses her; his mouth pressing hard against hers. She can taste his blood and his sweat, yet doesn't pull away. Her hands tightly grasping the front of his shirt; not caring about the dirt and the grim of the blood that transfers onto her own face and clothes. It's a relief; feeling his hard chest and his heart pounding within it, being able to breathe in his scent. 

“You're okay,” he says, relief evident in his voice, as he places a hand on the back of her head and holds her again. “You're okay.”

“I'm okay,” she confirms, and just allows him this moment. Letting him feel her against her, his stoic and brave persona disappearing momentarily as tears mix with the blood, sweat and filth. And she feels his body relax against her as the reality sets in that she is there in front of him. In his arms. Alive and breathing. 

“What happened?” she tries her best to hold it together. Since his release from the hospital five years ago, he's always been the strong one. Always keeping his shit together during even the darkest and toughest of times. She'd once told him that the only time in her entire life that she'd ever felt safe and protected was when she was with him. And since then he's been holding onto that. Always believing that he has to be that way. That that...the protector, the provider...is what she needs. 

Her hands are gentle as they investigate the various wounds on his face and hands; a large gash in the hair line, the bloody nose, the start of a black eye. Knuckles on both hands swollen, bruised and bleeding. 

“I'm fine,” he breathlessly assures her. “Don't worry. I'm fine.”

“You don't look fine. Tyler, what the hell happened?”

“They're dead,” he says. “All of them. All four of them.”

“What did you....”

“It doesn't matter. I did it. I...” he lets out a groan and a string of expletives as her fingers press into his shoulder. “...it would be the bad one,” he manages through gritted teeth. “I couldn't fuck up the other one so they'd match?”

“I need to get you to the hospital. You need to see a doctor.”

“No. No hospital. No doctor. I'm fine.”

“You are not fine,” she pushes those wayward locks away from his forehead, gentle fingertips surveying the large wound that travels from the top of his eyebrow and travels several inches into his hair. “Tyler...you are not fine...at all...”

“We gotta get out of here. I put in an anonymous call. To the cops. They'll be swarming all over the place soon. We gotta go.”

“Let me at least call Nic. Maybe she knows someone. A nurse or a doctor that I can take you to see and...”

“I''m fine. I'll be fine. We have to move. You're going to have to drive. I can't...with my shoulder...”

She nods in understanding, struggling to help him along when he drapes an arm around her shoulders. 

“Fuck...you're really short...” he manages to tease her. “...did you never grow again once you reached puberty?”

“You said my height was one of the things that attracted you to me,” she reminds him, wrapping an arm around his waist, trying her best to keep him upright and not to be pulled down by his weight. “You said it was cute. That I was cute.”

“Yeah...yeah I did...” he confirms. “...said I could pick you up and put you in my pocket.”

“Among some pretty X rated comments,” she teases him in return. “You're going to have to help me out here. You're insanely heavy. Can you at least get yourself into the car?”

He nods, grunting and swearing as he slides into the SUV, her hand over the top of his head so he doesn't catch it on the door frame. 

“Legs,” she orders, and has to help him swing them into the car before shutting the door.

From the supply bag in the back seat she grabs a towel, then climbs in behind the wheel, snags the keys from where she'd drop them on the dash, and shoves them into the ignition. “Here...” she places the towel in his hands. “Tyler...” she grabs a hold of his thigh and shakes vigorously when his head falls forward; eyes glassy, disoriented. “...wake up...stay awake...use this...for your head...”

“What?” his voice is groggy, eyes closing and then opening again, head repeatedly nodding forward. 

“Tyler...don't you do this to me...stay awake!” she presses the towel to his head, then grabs him by the wrist and forces his arm across his body, pressing his hand to the fabric now trying to staunch the flow of blood. “...you need to stay awake!” she scolds. 

“I am,” he argues, even though that sleepy voice and the continued nods of his head give him away. 

“Don't you pass out on me, Tyler Rake. There is no way I can get you of of this car if you pass out.”

“Okay...okay...relax...don't yell...”

“Don't you tell me to relax, you enormous pain in my ass. Here....” she grabs a bottle of water sitting in one of the cup holders, uncaps it and then holds it to his lips, one hand under his chin to catch any spillage. “Drink.”

“I'm not one of your kids. I don't need you to help me. I can drink on my own.”

“Listen, I love you, but I will kick your ass into the middle of next week, you hear me? Stop being so stubborn and combative and let me take care of you. You're bleeding all over the goddamn place, you act like you're going to faint...”

“I'm not going to faint,” he insists. “I'm fine. I'll be fine.”

“Just drink!” she orders, carefully tipping the bottle back and allow some of the liquid to enter his mouth. “Hang onto it,” she says after her swallows, and places the bottle between his thighs. “Keep your eyes open. I look over there and see your eyes are closed, I will pull over and beat your ass, understand me?”

“It's kinda hot when you think you can boss me around,” he quips. 

“I don't think I can. I know I can,” she says, as she throws the SUV into drive, tires squealing on the pavement as she speeds away.

****

“What the fuck happened?” Mark asks, as he and Yaz meet them in the underground parking lot of the hotel. Holding the driver's side door open and offering a hand as Esme slides out; she's at a disadvantage to due to her height, and needs both the aide of his hand and the running bars on the vehicle to safely get out.

“Everything went to shit,” she laments. “Story of our lives.”

“You're okay?” he takes her face in her hands, frowning as his eyes take in the blood and dirt that tarnish her skin.

“I'm fine,” she knocks his hands away from her. “Tyler's pretty fucked up though. Yaz is going to need some help.”

He just stares at her, concern registering on his face and in his eyes.

“Did you hear me? Yaz is going to need some help. Tyler's messed up and there's no way Yaz can get him out on his own. So do you think could stop eye fucking me and help out?”

“He's too heavy for just me,” Yaz says from the passenger side. “Someone want to give me a hand here.”

“I'm fine,” Tyler argues. The grogginess now replaced by sheer orneriness. Annoyed by all the hands touching him, hating the idea of appearing weak and needy. “Just fuck off and let me do it myself.”

“Please?” Esme pleads with Mark. “Help him?”

He nods, then journeys around the other side of the SUV. “Jesus Christ...” he chuckles. “...what does the other guy look like?”

“Dead,” Tyler responds, as he swings his legs out of the car, frowning at Yaz as he slips his hand under his arm. “I can do it.”

“Quit being such an asshole and let them help!” Esme snaps, as she slams the driver's side door closed. “He gets like this,” she explains. “After something happens. He gets totally bitchy and uncooperative.”

Her husband glares at her.

“Just let them help, Tyler. For crying out loud. Quit being so....I don't know...so you.”

“What the hell happened?” Yaz asks once again, as he drapes one of Tyler's arms around his shoulders, Mark following suit. 

“It's all fucked up,” Esme laments, as she grabs the bag of gear out out of the backseat; shoving the bloody and dirty towel into it before using her hip to shut the door. “We found where Heather McMann was being held. Or at least where she was pretending to be held.”

“It was all a set up,” Yaz explains, as he and Mark help Tyler hobble through the lot and towards the elevator. “Esme found the room where Heather was being kept. Or where she made it look like she was being kept.”

“And Tyler found a dead body,” she pipes up. “An extremely smelly one.”

“It was Erin,” he says. “The one girl that showed up that night with the photos.”

“You're sure?” Mark inquires. “I mean, if she was dead long enough to smell that bad...”

“She still had a face. It wasn't her face that was messed up. It was everything else. From the neck down. I don't want to talk about,” he drops his voice, so only the two other men can hear as he adds, “...I don't want her knowing about it. About what they did to that girl.”

“That bad?” Yaz inquires.

“Yeah. That bad. Brutal doesn't even begin to describe it. Just...drop it...let it go...at least while she's with us, yeah?”

Both men nod in agreement. 

“Nik says she'll have someone come by the room,” Yaz says, as he hits the button for the elevator. “A doctor she knows. It all be keep off the books, on the down low. You don't have to worry about that.”

“I don't need a doctor,” Tyler argues, and then winces when the simple act of leaning back against the wall while waiting for the lift sends shards of scalding, brutal pain shooting across his right shoulder and down his arms, fingers momentarily tingling. 

“Yes, you do,” Esme insists, as she stands in front of him, facing him with her hands on his hips. “Tyler, you're a fucking mess. You need someone to look after you.”

“You can do it. You've done it before. In Dhaka. When I've come home after other jobs.”

“This isn't Dhaka and this isn't like the other jobs. I'm not a nurse. Or a doctor. My days of stitching you up with a sewing needle and thread are long behind me, okay?”

“You did that?” Mark asks, obviously impressed.

“I had to. His right arm got all torn up and it had to be done. What was I supposed to do? Let him just bleed out all over the place?”

“She gives really good sponge baths too,” Tyler adds, smirking when Mark gives him a dirty look for even suggesting such a thing. “Well, she does.”

“Can you two stop?” she huffs. “Seriously. Just stop. This is not the time for a pissing contest. It does not matter at this moment whose dick is bigger than whose.”

“Or who gives her multiple orgasms,” Tyler tosses out. “Both are me, by the way.”

She sighs heavily. “Stop. Please. I know this is your way of dealing with shit, but you're only stressing me out more. We're going to get your upstairs and get you cleaned up and then someone is going to come and look at you. You don't get a say in this, Tyler. For once, let other people take care of things. You don't always have to be the one taking care of everyone else.”

“I love you,” he declares, and nearly stumbles into her as he leans in to kiss her.

“I love you too,” she says, and burying her face in his chest, holds onto him as tight as she can.


	34. Chapter 34

She calls home; pacing the length of the balcony. She's anxious to hear the kids' animated stories of their daily adventures, their musical little girls, the way the name 'mommy' sounds when it comes out of their mouths. Being away from them is unbearable; she's spent years always putting their needs and their well being first, ignoring her own mental health struggles, always putting herself on the back burner. Being a mom is her greatest achievement; protecting, growing, and nurturing babies inside of her, devoting the last five years to making sure that they are well cared for and that they know they are loved. Many times they've been her only source of companionship and comfort; Tyler being away for weeks on end, throughout the coarse of an entire year. The bond she has with her children is incredibly strong. Indescribable. And she misses them terribly. With everything she is and everything she has.

“I miss you mommy,” as usual, Tanner is the last one that gets to talk to her. He is extremely sensitive and introspective. Loving his mother with a fierceness that can't be rivalled. A momma's boy, through and through. He'd been the smaller and the sicker of the twins; they'd arrived six weeks early and not without complications. And while TJ had been able go home after only a week, Tanner had remained in the NICU with a variety of problems, and she'd put in long hours by his side; Tyler having to concentrate on staying home to care for Millie and a newborn. 

“I miss you too. Have you been a good boy? Grandma says you've been helping her out a lot. And that you've been really being strong and brave for your brother.”

“I'm trying to be good. I'm sad but I have to be happy for Teej and Millie. Sometimes it's really hard and I just want to cry.”

So much like his father in that respect. Always putting himself last in favour of being the strong, supportive one.

“It's okay to be sad,” she assures him. “Boys get sad too. Even daddy gets sad sometimes. And you know how tough and strong he is.”

“Daddy gets sad too?”

“Yup. Even the big and strong ones get sad once and a while. It makes him sad to be away from home. He doesn't like being away from you guys. It's really hard on him, even he doesn't like to admit it.”

“He misses us?”

“Of course he does. He misses you guys so much. You know how much he likes spending time with you guys. There's nothing he wouldn't do for you and your brothers and Millie. Doesn't he always try to spend as much time with you as possible when he's home? Doesn't he always tell you how much you loves you?”

“Always,” Tanner confirms.

“He's sad when he's away from you all. He just wants to be home. As much as possible. But sometimes...”

“He has to go away. To work.”

“Every once in a while,” she says. “But he doesn't really want to go. He'd rather be home. But sometimes people need his help and he has to go and give it to them.”

“Like the kids that were taken away?”

“Yup. And sometimes teenagers. And sometimes adults. People need his help and he goes.”

“He gets people away from bad guys,” Tanner sounds both intrigued and excited about the idea.

“Exactly.”

“Because he's really brave, right?”

“Yes,” she smiles. “He is. Even if he denies it. I need you to promise you'll be good. You keep helping grandma out. And your brother. But remember,it doesn't mean that you can't be sad or that you can't cry if you need to, okay? Daddy would tell you the same thing. We'll be home soon, okay? We both love you so much.”

“I love you, mommy. Tell daddy I love him too, 'kay?”

“I promise I will. Let me talk to grandma, okay?

“Okay...” there's rustling on the other end as the phone is placed on the kitchen counter, and she hear the smacking of his bare feet against the floor, the patio door behind thrown open, and then a bellowing of: “Grammie!! Mommy wants to talk to you!”

Esme sits on one of the plastic chairs, picking up the mug of tea that Yaz had brought her earlier, sipping gingerly at it as she waits for her mother to retrieve the phone. Inside, the doctor that Nik had sent is tending to Tyler, while Yaz and Mark hang around in case they're needed. It's been a hell of day; not even noon hour and she feels as if it should be midnight already. She's exhausted: mentally and physically. Still wearing the same clothes as earlier; covered in dirty and Tyler's blood and sweat. She needs a shower. Food. Sleep. And the 'date' with William Flynn still looms on the horizon. She wants to stay in; curled up in bed with her husband, feeling his heart beating against her, listening to him breathe. Comforted in the fact that he's still alive.

“Just so you know,” her mother says in way of greeting. “I don't normally let them stay up this late, but we're having and Ovi got them some sparklers and...”

“Mom...” she gets that single word out through a choked sob, then completely breaks down. The tears that flow are hot and vicious, and she struggles to get words out as she gulps for air. Leaving out all the various twists and turn and gory details, but delving into what they'd found that morning, how everything had gone terribly wrong in the blink of an eye. “Seeing him like that. I brought it all back. Dhaka. The bridge. It brought it all back and for five and a half years it's been leaving me alone.”

“Esme...honey...take a breath...”

“My brain knows it's nowhere near as bad. There's nothing life threatening. He'll be okay. But seeing him like that...all the blood....it was like I was right back there again. On that bridge. When will it end? When will it just leave me alone for good?”

“Honey child...” her mother sighs heavily. “...take a breath...he's fine. You just said it's nowhere near as serious.”

“It doesn't mean it makes it any easier. That I like seeing him like that. He's my husband, mom. He's the love of my life. The father of my children.”

“Esme, you knew what you were getting into. When you stayed in Australia to be with him. When you gave up your entire existence for him. You knew what kind of life he led.”

“I thought it would be behind him. Behind us. I thought once he healed and got back on his feet, this all wouldn't be part of his life anymore.”

“And then he went back,” her mom reminds her. “Without even telling you. And he brought you right back into it along with him. Esme, you must be able to see why that bothers me. Why I think it was selfish of him. You already had a baby girl, and you were pregnant with twins and having complications, and he still went back. Without even consulting you! That's selfish, honey, and you know it is. It was a terrible thing for him to do. If he wanted that life so badly, he should have just cut you loose. You and Amelia. You could have raised her on your own, and your step dad and I could have helped you through your pregnancy with the twins. Tyler could have just taken you to court and fought for visitation and paid child support.”

“Mom, what the fuck?! That was never an option. I wasn't going to leave him. Why would I do that? Why...?”

“Esme, your love can't save him when he's that hell bent on killing himself.”

“He's not that person any more,” she argues. “He's not that Tyler. The one with the death wish. The one with nothing to lose.”

“Then why does he still do it? Why does he keep putting himself at risk when he has a wife and children at home that love him and depend on him? Is it really worth the risk? You have to think long and hard about this, sweetheart. About this life. About him. Because if you stay with him, this is what's always going be like. He is always going to be running off and leaving you and the kids. And you're always going to be wondering if he's going to come back alive or dead. Is that really what you want? The kind of life? You deserve better. And so do my grandchildren.”

“Mom, leaving him is not an option that's on the table. It never has been. So...”

“I know you love him. I know he loves you. But sometimes, no matter how much two people love each other, it's just not healthy for them to be together. Is this really what you want the rest of your life to be like? Raising kids on your own while he's running off to save the world? He's a human being, Esme. He's not invincible. One day he's going to leave and he's not going to make it back. Are you really prepared for when that happens? Because if he keeps living this life, it will happen. And you'll be left four children to raise and all the pieces to pick up on your own.”

“We are not having this conversation, mom. You are not saying these things to me. Why are you saying them to me the first place?” 

“Because you need to hear them. This is tough love, Esme. And if your father was here...”

“Well he's not. He's not here. He hasn't been here since I was seventeen.”

“...he would tell you the same thing. He wouldn't want you living like this. He wouldn't want you putting all your trust and all your faith and all your love into a man that isn't capable of giving any of that back to you.”

“You don't even know him, mom. You've spent five and a half years hating him. And now you think you know how he feels? You think you know what goes inside of his head?”

“I didn't hate him, Esme. I hated what he put you through. I hated that he took you away from your home and put all that burden on you...”

“He wasn't a burden. He saved my life. Not just in Dhaka. But in other ways too.”

“So you stayed because you felt you owed him? Do you realize how unhealthy that sounds?”

“I stayed because I was in love with him. And he needed me. I wasn't going to leave him. Not on the bridge, not in the hospital. I stayed there because I wanted to be there. I wanted to be with him.”

“You weren't in love with him, hun. Don't fool yourself. You were in love with the idea of him. He wandered into your life and swept you off your feet and you fell in love with the idea of what it would be like to be with someone like him. Tall, good looking, the body...”

“Mom, you have no idea what you're talking about. You have no idea what attracted me to Tyler or what went on during those five days and...”

“Exactly. It was five days. You spent five days with him, probably in his bed, and just happened to fall in love that quickly? That's a load of shit, Esme, and you know it. You loved the idea of him. The kind of life he could give you...”

“He lived in a fucking shack in the outback with a dog and a chicken! He barely had a life to give me! What the hell are you talking about? Tyler had nothing when I met him. What he could give me? I didn't want anything. I just wanted him.”

“So you fel in love with the aesthetic of him.”

“Oh my god,” she gives a snort. “Are you being serious right now?”

“Esme, he's very attractive, he has that body, those eyes, that voice...”

“I can not believe I am listening to this!”

“I can see how you fooled yourself into thinking you were in love with him. You were smitten with him. But it wasn't love. And you know it wasn't. Maybe it turned into love. Maybe the two of you fell in love with each other during the coarse of a few months or a year, but it was not love that made you stay. You wanted to escape. You hated your life. And he gave you the chance to get away from it.”

“That is not why I stayed,” she hisses.

“You need to sit back and think long and hard about the decisions you've made, young lady. Why you did the things you did. I don't deny that you love him now. Or that he loves you. I know he does. But five and a half years ago? That was not love. And do we even need to get into the fact that he knocked you up?”

“Do you have to be so crude about it? Your granddaughter came out of that.”

“And she's beautiful and I love her. But it doesn't hide the fact that you and Tyler were complete strangers when you fell into bed with one another and neither of you thought be safe about it. It was a mistake, Esme.”

“Millie is not a mistake,” the tears threaten once again. “She wasn't planned, but she was wanted. I even gave him an option. I told him I'd leave and never contact him again if he didn't want the baby. He wanted her. I wanted her. Just because she wasn't planned does not mean she was a mistake.”

“And like I said, she's a beautiful, amazing little girl. And we're all blessed to have her. But it doesn't change how she ended up here.”

“And you think the twins were planned? Do you want the details on how they came along? How they were conceived? We didn't use anything because we didn't think I could get pregnant that soon. And how about Declan? I was on the pill with him and we still conceived him. So you're saying all your grandchildren are mistakes because they weren't planned?”

“That is not what I'm saying at all. You were married when they came along.”

“So what you're pissed about is that we made Millie out of wedlock? Are you serious, mom? That is what you're upset about? The fact Tyler and I had premarital sex and he got me pregnant? Spare me your moral superiority. Don't be acting all high and mighty with me when you were fucking the mailman and the pastor while still married to dad!”

“Esme!” her mother snaps. “What are you...?”

“You didn't think I knew, did you. Oh I know, mom. I know all your dirty little secrets. Word travels fast in a small town. It gets back to you when your mom is the town whore!”

“Esme Michelle, you don't ever speak to me that way. You...”

“I am done with this conversation. I want you out of my house, mom. I want you to pack your shit and leave. When I call tomorrow, you better not still be there.”

“You'd hurt the kids like that? Take me out of their lives and hurt them like that?”

“They'll deal. They have Ovi and Chloe and Nik. They'll be fine. Just get your shit and get out of my house. Now!” she abruptly disconnects the call, then tosses the cell phone down with enough force that it bounces off the tables, hits the ground and send the battery one direction and the body of the phone in the other. 

****

“Bad time to bother you?” Mark asks sheepishly, as he stands on the track for the sliding door.

“It's always a bad time to bother me. Did you not learn anything being married to me? Did you not realize quickly that I'm a raging bitch?”

“It wasn't enough to scare me away,” he grins, and then gathers up the pieces of the phone and snaps them together. “You okay?”

“No. I'm not. I just had the most wonderful conversation with my mother that could not have gone any better if I tried.”

“You know,” he holds the phone out to her. “She does love you.”

“She has a hell of a way of showing it.”

“She worries about you. You're her first girl. She wasn't very happy. When you decided to ditch your old life for a new one in Australia.”

“Mark...” she groans. “...it is none of your goddamn business what I do with my life. Just like it's none of hers. I'm a big girl, I make my own decisions. I do what I want and who I want. So if you're out there to promote her agenda....”

“I'm not. I'm just out there to check on you. And tell you what the doctor said.”

“Is he alive? Is he going to live long enough for me to smother him in his sleep because of his fucking 'save the world' bullshit? Because I am so sick of it, Mark. I'm tired of this life. I'm tired of him taking on the weight of other peoples' problems and it causing a whole lot of problems for us. I'm tired of watching him walk out the front door and worrying about whether or not he's going to walk back in. I'm tired of loving someone so much it is physically painful sometimes.”

“That's not a bad thing,” he says, and takes a seat on the chair next to her. “Loving someone that much.”

“I just want this stop. I need it to come to an end. I need him to realize that enough is enough and that it's time to leave it behind. I need him to realize that I need him and his kids need him and our lives are better with him in it.”

“Have you actually told him all that, or...?”

“Tons of times. I'm always trying to get through that thick fucking head of his! But he's so stubborn and he's still got these walls up that I can't seem to get past no matter how hard I try. And I know he doesn't realize that he's doing it and that he's shutting me out, but it drives me insane.”

“Have you ever thought that maybe he's too afraid to let those last walls down? That those are the only ones left protecting him?”

“Protecting him from what? We've been married for almost six years. We have four kids together. What does he need to protect himself from?”

“Losing you. He's terrified of that, you know. Of something happening to you.”

She sighs. 

“Esme, you have him a second chance at life. You gave him a reason to keep going. You saved him just as much as he saved you. And he's scared. I know he is. He's scared of something happening to you. Of trying to figure out life without you. Especially a life with four kids. I know he's a bad ass. Believe me, I know. But he's also a human being. A human being that happens to love you to the ends of the earth. He is legitimately terrified of something happening to you.”

“He told you all this?”

“Not in so many words. He's not the most talkative guy.”

“You think?” she scoffs. 

“But from what he did tell, he's worried. And he's scared. That's why he is the way he is. Protective. To a fault. He's afraid if he doesn't, something will happen to you, and then he'll spend the rest of his life hating himself for it. Cut the guy some slack, would you? He's been through a hell of a lot. Things we can't even begin to imagine. Well maybe you can because you saw it happen and you were there afterwards while he was in the hospital...”

“I don't want to talk about this, Mark. I do not want to talk about what happened in Dhaka. I don't want to talk about when he was in the hospital. I just can't talk about it, okay? It's too hard. Even now.”  
“Fair enough,” he says, and holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Other than your mom, are you okay?”

“I've been better. I'm still a little freaked out. I don't know how things went bad so fast. And why do they always need to go to shit in the first place? Why can't a job go nice and smooth for just once?”

“Nature of the beast I guess. If it makes you feel better, he's going to be okay.”

“Tyler's level of okay is not the same as a normal person's level of okay. Okay to Tyler is only getting shot twice instead of three times. So...”

“Got a concussion, busted nose, needed fourteen stitches to close the gash in his head, black eye, knuckles are all busted to shit. Separated right shoulder. Doctor reset it. ”

“Oh so it's basically just a normal day for him.”

Mark laughs. “I take it you're use to this.”

“You have no idea. The shit I have seen happen to this man and have him turn around and just walk it off? It's insane. He's a freak of nature. Maybe even a cyborg. I really don't know. But he just keeps getting back up and back into the game. I wish he wouldn't, but...”

“Get up or get back in the game?”

“Obviously get back in the game. I can't even begin to imagine what my life would be like without him. How empty and miserable it would be. I've spent five and a half years with him. He's not just my husband and the father of my kids, he's my best friend. And my life would completely suck without him in it.”

Mark just nods.

“I'm sorry. If me admitting all that hurts your feelings. If you're still holding onto something.”

“It is what it is, Esme. I fucked up. And you went on with your life. I didn't expect you to get on with it so soon, mind you.”

“So soon? We hadn't been together for four years. That isn't soon. And need I remind you that you couldn't keep your dick in your pants for the entire time we were married? Yet you're upset I met Tyler four years later? Like...what?” she can't help but laugh.

“How did you meet him anyway? Your mom said it was a business trip, but I highly doubt that's the whole truth.”

“We met through Nik. She needed someone to fill a spot on her team and I wanted to branch out from just doing North America stuff. So she took me on and the Dhaka job came up and that's how Tyler and I ended up running into each other. I did meet him in Australia. That part is true. Nik took me there, to his place, because she had a job that she needed us to work together on. He lived in this little shack in the outback. With a dog. And a chicken. Bathroom chicken.”

“Bathroom chicken? What...?”

“When I walked in, the chicken was sitting on the edge of the tub. My first words to Tyler were 'there's a chicken in your bathroom'. Now does that not spark romance or what?”

Mark chuckles.

“Are you sure you want to hear this? Because I know we've had our issues, but I don't want to hurt your feelings by making your listen to this.”

“You're not making me listen to anything. I asked. It's okay. Go ahead.”

“He was so different than anyone I'd ever met before. He was mysterious. Sullen. Troubled. And he had this edge to him that I couldn't quite explain. There was something about him that was so intriguing. That I couldn't look away from. Not to mention insanely buff and absurdly tall, but that's neither here nor there. There was just something about him. I don't even know what it was or how to even describe it. I just...felt it.”

“And the job?”

“We had to pretend we were newlyweds. That we were in Dhaka because we chose humanitarian work over a normal, traditional honeymoon. And it worked. Shockingly well. Until it didn't. Things went bad. They went so bad, Mark. And it happened so fast. Tyler and I were the only two from the team that survived. We got separated. In the forest. I'd gone ahead to meet the other team members and he was supposed to get Ovi and meet up with us. Only that never happened. I had to hide in that goddamn forest for hours until things calmed down. Then I had to walk back into town and meet up with Tyler and Ovi. It was insane. The whole thing. From beginning to end. So many times that day I didn't think I was ever getting out of Dhaka. At least not alive.”

“But you did. Make it out. Alive.”

She nods. “Tyler made sure of it. That Ovi and I got across the bridge. It's a long story and one I do not like to relive. But we got across and he didn't and...” emotions chokes at her, and she rubs the palms of her hands against the sides of her mug. “...he almost died. In my arms. On that bridge. And it was...it is...the most horrible thing I've ever had to see in my entire life.”

“Esme...I am so sorry. That you had to go through that. That you had to see that.”

“It was the worst thing I have ever seen. In the corps, I could turn off my emotions. When we went overseas and we saw death and destruction all around us, eventually you become desensitized to it. It didn't bother me after all. It was part of the job. But that...on the bridge...” she swipes at a tear as it trickles down her cheek. “...I will never forget that. As long as I live. Every time I see that scar on his neck, it's like it happened yesterday. I can't get it out of my mind. No matter how hard I try. Will it ever go away? Will it ever get better?”

“It will get better,” Mark assures her. “One day it won't bother you at all. When you see that scar. And you won't even realize that it stopped bothering you. But you won't ever forget it, Esme. How could you? I mean, you were involved with the guy at the time. He wasn't some stranger off the street. You two had...I don't...something...between you. And you kept him alive. He was bleeding out and you actually kept him on this side of the ground. That's pretty fucking amazing. It really is.”

“He would have done the same for me. I know he would have. I mean, he sacrificed himself to get Ovi and I across the bridge. If something had have happened to me, I know he would have fought just as hard to keep me going. It's just...” she sighs. “...can we stop talking about this? Some days I'm fine with it and some days I just do it.”

“It's okay,” he lays a comforting hand on her back. “I get it. I do. He's lucky to have you, you know. You stuck around. Not just on that bridge, but in that hospital. You didn't have to stay and you did. And that's pretty damn admirable.”

“It's really not. I did what anyone would do.”

“Most people would have gotten the hell out of there and never looked back. But you hung in there. And you keep hanging in there. It can't be easy. Being with a guy like that.”

She frowns. “A guy like that?”

“The way he is. With his issues. I mean, he's got some serious shit going on up in his head and...

“He has PTSD, Mark. He's not crazy. You'd have it too you if you lived through what he did. You know, you started out so well. You had me convinced that you actually wanted to hear about Tyler and I. That maybe you'd turned over a new leaf and you actually gave a shit about other people. But you just turn around and remind me that you're still the same asshole you've always been.”

“Did he tell you he nearly killed McMann yesterday? That he absolutely snapped and nearly choked the guy out?”

“Actually, he did. Right after he told me he swallowed his pride and asked you...of all goddamn people...for help. So if you're trying to take a cheap shot at his expense, it won't work.”

“He went fucking loco, Esme. Like right off the reservation. How do you handle that? Does he do that at home too? With you and the kids?”

“You're reaching, Mark. Like desperately reaching. Tyler has never...ever...lost it like that on me or the kids.”

“How do you know he won't?”

“Because I know him. He's different when he's not on the job. You're seeing work Tyler. He's not like that at home. He's more relaxed. He doesn't carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. He's happy. He's not the Tyler he is right now.”

“If he's got PTSD, it could lead to that one day. Where he does snap at home. On you and the kids.”

“Mark, you are walking on very thin ice here. I appreciate what you did yesterday. I really do. I was worried about him going alone and you stepped up to help him out. And it's a good thing you were there to stop him from killing McMann. Because we need that asshole alive. But if you're looking for me to pin a medal on you or something...”

“I just worry about you,” he reasons. “That's all.”

“Funny, it takes me being married to another man to get you to care about me. Because you sure as shit didn't care when we were together.”

“We had our issues. I'm not denying that.”

She gives a derisive snort.

“But I am not the only one to blame for everything that happened. You know what you're like.”

“What am I like, Mark? Enlighten me. Tell me what I'm like.”

“You're argumentative. Confrontational. Assertive. Aggressive.”

She smirks. “Only weak men are intimidated by assertive women.”

“See? That right there. The smart ass comments. That's another thing. How the fuck does he put up with you?”

“He's not a pussy like you are. He likes a challenge.”

“Wouldn't be surprised if you're part of the reason he's so...you know...batshit crazy.”

“Mark, that is my husband you're talking about. So if you want to keep all of your teeth, I suggest you don't say another word. Because I'm all out of both patience and fucks right about now and I will not hesitate knocking you the fuck out.”

“Uhhh...Esme...” Yaz pokes his head out the door. “...the doctor's gone and he said there won't be a bill or anything. I guess he owes Nik a favour. He wrote a couple of prescriptions so I'm going to go and find a pharmacy and get them filled.”

“Yaz, you're the best,” she gives him a glowing smile. “You're the real MVP on this team.”

“About time someone noticed and acknowledged it,” he grins. “And the doc told Tyler to take a shower and get clean up. All the blood and the dirt could cause infection. But he's still a little woozy and I don't want him falling and cracking his head open. So...”

“Yaz, you've shared a public bathroom with him before I'm sure. It's nothing you haven't seen.”

“Yeah, well, I'd rather not see it, know what I mean? And he won't let me near him anyway. He's really stubborn.”

“You're just realizing that now? After what? Eight years of knowing him?”

“Well he can't take a shower alone in case he passes out or whatever and I told him that so he said to come get you because you're used to seeing his...you know...”

She smirks, standing up and stretching. “Junk? Afraid you'll get penis envy?”

“...and you had to do to this kind of thing before after Dhaka, so...”

“I'm going...I'm going...” she mutters. “Fucking men. If I'd decided to stick to just girls, I would not be going through this horseshit right now. And Yaz...” she stands on her tip toes and presses a kiss to his cheek. “...thank you. You're an awesome friend.”

“Nothing I wouldn't do for you guys, you know that.”

“And Mark...” she pauses in the threshold, glaring at him. “...don't be here when I get back.”


	35. Chapter 35

He sits on the edge of the tub; elbows on his knees and his left palm pressed to his forehead. Still clad in the same soiled; fabric damp and stained with a mixture of blood, sweat, mud, and grass stains. Right arm held across his chest, secured in a makeshift sling that had been created out of torn up old t-shirt. He aches; scalding, nearly unbearable pain that begins in the socket of the shoulder and spreads all the way down to his fingertips. A pounding, nauseating headache. Sore back and ribs; unable to draw in even the smallest of breaths without experiencing some kind of agony. His eyes are closed; the bathroom light even too much for his aching head to bare, and doesn’t even look up to acknowledge the soft creak of the door as it is pulled open. It’s quiet out in the main quarters of the suite, no Yaz or Mark and the incessant chatter of the latter. Curtains drawn tight, no even a sliver of sunlight making it into the room. She’s handled this before: the post concussion suffering. 

“Get your dirty fingers away from your head,” she gently scolds as she stands in front of him, her fingers curling around his wrist and pulling his hand away. “The stitches are still fresh. It’s going to get infected. And you have enough problems right now.”

Her voice sounds…sad. And he hates that. He hates that he’s the one that has caused this. That she’s not only had to see him messed up, but that she has to be the one that renders care and aid. It’s a recurring theme over the past four years since he’d gotten back into the job; returning home with various injuries, having to rely on her to continue with the bandaging and the wound care, having to be completely vulnerable in front of her. The latter shouldn’t even be an issue anymore; after five and a half years, he would think he’d be perfectly comfortable with letting his guard down in front of her. You share a lot in that span of time; deepest and darkest secrets, brutally honest confessions, mind blowing intimacy. Yet a part of him still holds back. He still can’t seem to give a hundred percent of himself. Worried that his burdens and his suffering will be just too much for her to shoulder.

He feels her hands on his face; palms on his cheeks, and he keeps his eyes closed and allows her to gently turn his head up towards her. Fingertips tenderly inspecting the various wounds; carefully pushing hair out of the way to check the laceration that runs from the top of his forehead and back into his scalp. Softly pressing at the beginnings of a wicked black eyes, travelling over his nose. It’s not the first time he’s busted it. And it probably won’t be the last. Her touch comforts him; it’s soothing and loving. And he doesn’t feel as if he deserves either.

“Tyler…” she sighs heavily. “…what the hell happened?”

“That’s not important.”

“It’s important to me. You shouldn’t have been alone. If I’d stayed…”

“If you’d stayed, things would have been a hundred times worse. I sent you away for a reason. Don’t question it, okay?”

“Like you sent me away with Saju and Ovi?”

“That’s not the same thing and you know it.”

His hands find her hips, resting gently upon them. And when he feels the brush of her lips against his forehead, his palms slide around to the small of her back and he draws her in towards him, head falling forward to rest against her chest. Her palms still on the side of his face, thumbs rubbing against his beard, then moving a bit higher to brush against the middle of his ears. His never had hands like hers on him before; whether it be providing comfort and care or driving him absolutely insane with lust and need. Her touch is familiar but welcoming. Still able to make his stomach flutter and his knees weak even after five and a half years.

“I’m sorry,” his face is muffled against her body. “I’m so sorry, baby.”

Her hands move further back, nails lightly scraping against the shortest parts of his hair, then slowly moving upwards; until her fingers are pushing through the longest strands and loosely gripping. “For what?” she asks. There’s no judgment in her tone; no condemnation. And he doesn’t deserve that, her understanding, her patience. Her love.

“This. This whole fucking mess. For even getting you involved in it. I never should have called you that day. Asking you for help.”

“Would you rather it have been me coming here or a complete stranger?”

“You. But that’s not the point. I never should have gotten you involved in this.”

“I was already involved. The second you decided to do this. It doesn’t matter if I’m thousands of miles away from you, we’re still a team. I support you no matter what, even when we’re not on the same side of the world.”

Her hands drift down the back of his neck, eventually falling on his shoulders. Fingers and thumbs cautiously digging into the tight, painful muscles. 

“You should have just said no. When I called you. You should have just told me to ‘fuck off’ and stayed with the kids. They need you. They need their mom.”

“They need their dad too. I didn’t make those kids by myself, you know.”

“You’re the one that did all the work. You’re the one that carried them inside of you. Kept them alive. You’re the one that spends all the time with them when I’m gone. They’d miss you a hell of a lot more than they’d miss me.”

“Now you’re just talking shit. Stop doing that. Stop downplaying the role that you have in their lives. The impact that you have. They adore you. They idolize you. You’re their daddy. Your role didn’t just stop the second you came inside of me. So stop. Please. Stop talking like this.”

“You shouldn’t have to be there. You shouldn’t have to see this. See me…like this.”

“I’ve seen you in a lot worse shape,” she reminds him. “A hell of a lot. Of all the people you shouldn’t be uncomfortable around, I’m at the top of the list. I’m your wife, Tyler.”

“Yes,” he smiles against her. “You are.”

“So then quit your bullshit and let me take care of you. You’d do the same thing for me.”

“I’m the guy. I’m supposed to take care of you.”

“That’s not how this works. This isn’t a one-sided thing. So quit being so stubborn and just let me take care of you. Let me love you. Can you do that? I need you to do that.”

He nods, and she runs her thumb and forefingers along the edges of his ears, tugging gently when she reaches the lobes, urging him to look up at him. The light over head is blinding and agonizing to his tortured head, and he regards her through narrow, tortured eyes. 

She smiles. It’s small. Soft. Reassuring. And she leans down to press feathery kisses over every inch of his face. Not caring about the dried blood or the dirt, lips travelling across his forehead, over his eyes and down his nose, onto both cheeks and then eventually his lips. A soft, long, sweet kiss that nearly takes his breath away.

“I don’t deserve this,” he says. “You. I don’t deserve you.”

“Stop being so hard on yourself, Tyler. I’m used to this, remember? How you live. This is your life.”

“No. You’re my life. Not this.”

“It’s okay,” she assures him. “If it wasn’t, I wouldn’t be here right now. I wouldn’t have stuck around for five and a half years. I never would have called you that night when we were separated and asked you to come home. This is who we are, Tyler. This is what we are.”

“That’s not how it was supposed to be. When we got married. This wasn’t supposed to be part of it.”

“Well, it is,” she says with a sad smile. “Until you’ve finally gotten it out of your system and you’ve had enough of this life. I’ll be waiting. For when you’re ready to finally walk away.”

“And what if I never do? What if I’m never ready? What if I never walk away?”

“Then we stick together and deal with that too. You’re not in this alone. And I won’t you to stop feeling guilty for bringing me into this. You’ve been holding onto that for five and a half years now. All that guilt. For what I saw in Dhaka and for staying with you in Australia. It’s time to let that go. Because it’s weighing you down. It’s weighing us down. I don’t hate you. I don’t resent you. I just love you. That’s it.”

He smiles, tears sparkling in his eyes.

“You need to stop being so hard on yourself all the time,” she presses a kiss to his lips. “If you could just see yourself the way I see you. You’re not broken. You’re not damaged. You’re a human being who has flaws and weaknesses just like the rest of us. I don’t think I could love you if you didn’t. Because it’s all those imperfections that make you, you. That made me fall in love with. That makes me love you more and more every day. I need you to stop doing this to yourself. For torturing yourself like this. Because I love you. And there’s no one else in the world I want to be with.”

He briefly tucks his lower lip between his teeth, then reaches up with his good hand, placing it on the back of her neck and pulling her down into a kiss. Nothing passionate or needy about it. Just a languid, tender kiss that he knows she’ll feel for days. 

“Now come on,” she motions for him to stand up. “We need to get you cleaned up. You’re a mess,” she places a hand under his good arm, encouraging him to stand. “Are you dizzy? You’re not going to fall over on me, are you?”

“Not dizzy,” he confirms. “I’m fine.”

“Well try and give me some kind of warning if you’re going to faint. Because I need to get out of the way or you’re going to crush me.”

“I’m not that big,” he grins. “I’m not that heavy.”

“You’re more than a foot taller than me and you have about ninety pounds on me. If not more. So yeah. You are that big and you are that heavy. Here…let me help,” she uses his good shoulder for support as she climbs onto the edge of the tub, standing behind him long enough to undo the knot holding the sling in place. “…careful…” she says as she once more stands in front of him, frowning at the pained expression on his face; the simple chore of removing the fabric even causing him agony. “…is the doctor sure it was just dislocated?”

“That’s what he said. But without x rays, it’s hard to know for sure. Fuck…” he bites down on his bottom lips as pain shoots through his arm, having to support it; hand coming up to cradle his wrist, effectively keeping the shoulder in line. Sweat beads across his forehead. His breathing is ragged. Face a sickly gray colour. 

“Just breathe,” she says, and tosses the sling onto the counter top. “Isn’t that what you always say to me?’

Tyler nods.

“Do you feel sick? Do you need to throw up?”

He shakes his head. “I’m okay.”

“If you need to puke, use this…” she dumps the trash from the small bin next to the toilet onto the floor. “…because you look like you might puke. We have to get this off,” she tugs at the bottom of his t-shirt. “Maybe sit down. Because it’s going to hurt like hell and if you pass out, at least you don’t have far to fall.”

“I won’t pass out,” he argues, but still takes a seat on the edge of the top.

“You nearly passed out watching Millie be born,” she reminds him.

“That’s different. That was…gross.”

“Weird how you don’t get violently ill or you don’t pass out impaling someone’s face with the end of a rake, but seeing your own child brought into the world almost brings you to your knees,” she teases, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Don’t even try and use your right arm. Pretend it doesn’t even exist. Just use your left and I’ll help, okay?”

He nods, eyes closing, his good hand assisting her with lifting the t-shirt up and over his head. A string of profanities escaping his lips when he’s forced to raise both arms over his head to finally get it off the entire way.

“Good?” she inquires, as she tosses the piece of fabric into the corner. “Are you good?”

“Yeah…” his breathing is laboured, the sweat on his brow and at his temples more prominent now. “…I’m good.”

“Drop your pants,” she instructs, and even in his pained filled state, he can’t help but smirk.

“Normally that would turn me on hearing you say that, but…” he’s grimacing as he gets to his feet once more. 

“I’ll forgive you…just this once…for not pitching a tent at my expense,” she helps with his belt buckle, button and zipper and then moves to start setting up the water for the shower. “Don’t pass out,” she warns, as she adjusts the cold and hot water. “You want it arctic cold or hell fire hot?”

“Somewhere in between, I guess,” he’s able to his jeans and boxer briefs down with one hand, then resorts to kicking them off his legs and using his toes to push his socks off. “And I already said I’m not going to pass out. I’m fine.”

“You’re far from fine,” she argues, and when satisfied with the temperature of the water, begins peeling off her own clothes.

“What are you doing?”

“The easiest way to help you is to get in there with you. Am I supposed to leave my clothes on? Don’t worry, Tyler. I won’t take advantage of you in your weakened condition. It’s not like we’ve never seen each other naked before. Are you suddenly shy?”

“No. I just…I don’t know…I’m…like this…hurt….”

“Listen, I was with you in a hospital when you still had to use a catheter to take a piss. I’ve had to help you to and from the bathroom on many occasions when you were finally released and were at home recovering. I’m capable of seeing your dick without getting turned on, alright?”

“Maybe I want you to get turned on. That can’t exactly happen when I look like this. Blood. Dirt.”

“Baby, you’re insanely attracted regardless of what you’re covered in. As sick and twisted as that sounds. How does your mind always go there? Into the gutter? Especially when you’re like this. You’d think it would be the last thing on your mind.”

“I’m a red-blooded male. If my mind doesn’t go there, it means I don’t have a pulse.”

“You’re impossible,” she huffs, and then draws back the shower curtain and steps into the bed. “Well…come on…” she offers her hand. 

He grins. “You gonna scrub my back.”

“Maybe,” she says with a wink. “And maybe some other things too.”

****  
“Yaz says there was a problem with comms,” Nik says, as she and Esme chat via FaceTime. “That why he wasn’t able to warn you guys that someone was coming.”

It’s five thirty in the afternoon; curtains still drawn across the windows, late afternoon sun refused entrance. She sits in bed with her back resting against the headboard, laptop perched upon the tops of her thighs. The television on but the volume on mute; every so often glancing up to check the headlines that run along the bottom of the screen. Two empty room service plates and the accompanying cutlery on the nightstand next to her side of the bed, along with various bottles of prescription meds that Yaz had picked up earlier, and two bottles of water. Tyler sleeps soundly beside her; on his stomach; his good arm tucked under his pillow; face turned towards her. Snoring lightly, those impossibly long, dark eyelashes skimming the tops of his cheeks, a slight smile curving his lips. Pain free, at least for now.

“Everything was working ten minutes before. I talked to him over the radio. I even sent pictures to his SAT.”

“He thinks someone jammed the signals. Once you go back outside.”

“Whoever was in the car?”

“That’s his best guest. We have someone keeping an eye on the police system. As soon as they’re able to identify who these guys are…were…we will know. They’re dead. All four of them. There was no one left alive.”

“Except for Tyler,” Esme points out.

“Yes. Except for Tyler. Thankfully.”

“How did they even know we were there? We were careful Nik. We watched our backs, kept an eye out for each other. There was no one following us and no one watching us. So how…”

“There may be some kind of surveillance at McMann’s house. Or even in the bunker. Maybe even some kind of alarm that was silently tripped when Tyler broke the lock on the storm cellar. Once it’s dark, I’ll send Yaz and Mark to get a look at things. Just so you know, McMann is livid. That the two of you went there. He’s out for blood.”

“Well you tell him that I’m kind of livid too. Tell him I’m just slightly pissed off that my husband could have been killed because of his twisted suck fuck of a wife. Tell him that. And while you’re at it, tell him he’s more than welcome to come here and have the balls to say what he has to say to my face. Fuck him and his threats, Nik. And fuck him for ever getting Tyler involved in this.”

“I know you’re upset. I know…”

“This goes beyond being upset. I want to know how the hell his wife was orchestrating all of this right under his nose? Was this all some kind of set up? Did he know about? Is he in on it? We need answers, Nik. We deserve answers. We’ve been busting our asses to find those kids and we’re no further ahead now than we were then.”

“I know,” Nik sighs. “And I’m just as frustrated as you.”

“Are you? Because you seem pretty damn calm. Why don’t you try getting some answers out of him? Because he isn’t giving us any. He’s been lying to Tyler right from the get-go. All he wanted was for Tyler to come in and start a war within the IRA and take the heat off of who is really behind his kids going missing. Well fuck that, Nik. I’m not letting him…or you…use my husband as a pawn. Enough with the games. Do you realize how bad things could have ended today? What if Tyler hadn’t been able to fight them off? What if there’d been more? What if…?”

“Asking what if solves nothing and you know it. I’ll get answers from him. I want them just as bad as you do.”

“If I had my way, we’d be leaving on the next flight out of here. I’m sick of this, Nik. This life. I’m sick of Tyler doing all the dirty work. Of him being the one you always fall back on. Isn’t there someone else you can be obsessed with? Someone else from your past you can pine over?”

“Esme…” she sighs. “…that’s not what this is about.”

“When will you just let go? Of him? When we’re married ten years? Fifteen? Twenty? I’m not going anywhere, Nik.”

“This isn’t why I contacted you. To talk about this. To argue about this. I know you have a hard time accepting the fact that Tyler and I have history, but…”

“You were fucking him. Don’t romanticize it.”

“…but you need to get over it. He chose you. He married you. You have kids together. If you don’t realize how much he loves you by now…”

“This isn’t about Tyler, Nik. This is about you constantly testing boundaries. I thought we were friends. I thought I could trust you.”

“You can. We are friends.”

“So that’s why you’ve propositioned him? Twice?”

Silence.

“You honestly thought he wouldn’t tell me? We don’t keep secrets, Nik. Not even the ones that hurt like hell to confess them. Can you not respect me and my children enough to just leave him alone? I don’t expect you to stop being friends with him. I don’t expect him to stop working for you. But can you not stop trying to break up my family? His family? You’d think you’d be happy for him. You saw him at the lowest of lows. So you’d think you’d want him to have a normal life.”

“I am happy for him. And for you.”

“But not happy enough to not try and get him back in your bed?”

“Esme, I don’t know what you want me to say. I hate that this is becoming such an issue between us. I mean, it’s been there. The elephant in the room. We were doing so good. For five and a half years. We mended things, we became friends again, I’m the godmother for your twin boys. But lately it’s gotten out of control. You’ve gotten out of control. You’re jealous and possessive and…”

“I’m jealous and possessive because I don’t want my husband becoming someone’s side piece? Are you being serious right now?”

“It will never happen. He loves you too much. And he loves his kids. He’d never do anything that would risk losing his kids.”

“It’s not Tyler I worry about. It’s you. I want you to just let this go, Nik. I want you to let him go. We’re trying to have a marriage here. We’re trying to raise kids. And this tension you bring? It’s not good for any of us. Especially the kids. I’m asking you…no, I’m begging you…to let go of this notion of you and him. I need you to do that. Can you at least try? Can you just see him as a friend and nothing else?”

“Of course I can. You’re both my friends. And I am sorry. That this is so hard for you. Knowing that there’s a past between Tyler and me. But you’re his present. And his future. That alone should cement things for you. He chose you. He could have told you to fuck off after Dhaka and leave him alone. And he didn’t. Do you know how happy he was? When he came out of the coma and he saw you there? Do you know what that did for him that you were the first person he laid eyes on? Esme, you saved him. In every way possible. You gave him a reason to keep on when he wanted to give up. There is no one…and I mean no one…that could ever love you in the way he does.”

She glances down at him as he sleeps; boyish and peaceful looking. His features softer. No worries or fears or demons plaguing his mind. At least for now. And she uses her forefinger to gently push his hair out of eyes; the swelling starting to subside under the left, the bruising started to show.

“How is he?” Nik asks.

“He’s resting. I’ve been waking him up every couple of hours, just to make sure he’s okay. But he’s peaceful. Right now, at least.”

“Has he said anything to you? About what happened?”

“Not a word. Just that he had to do what he had to do. He said there was four of them. And that he killed them. All of them.”

“Did he say how?”

“No. I mean, he had the Glock on him, but I never heard any shots. And I would have heard those. Whatever happened, whatever they did to him, he’s pretty messed up.” She rattles of the list of injuries, and the names of the various medications that the doctor had prescribed him. 

“Well just keep an eye on him. Knowing Tyler, he’ll want to be back at things tomorrow. He needs a couple of days at least. I can have Yaz and Mark continue working on things in regard to tracking the kids down and getting more information out of McMann. Be careful, Esme. Like I said, McMann is out for blood now. Tyler’s blood. And if he has to, he’ll go through you to get it. Stay safe and locked up in that room if you have to. Tell Tyler the same thing.”

“I will. We’ll be careful, Nik. I promise.”

“Did he tell you anything about the girl he found?”

“No. And I don’t think he wants to.”

“Probably for good reason. Tell him we’ll talk tomorrow, and he can fill me in then. In the meantime, just take care of him. And each other.”

****

She feels him stir against her when she leans over to place the laptop on the floor; a thick, muscular thigh rubbing against hers, followed by the faint rustle of sheets as he changes positions in the bed. And when she looks over her shoulders, he’s flat on his back; brow furrowed, a frown as his face, as if he can’t remember where he is, or he got there. The traffic jam, as he calls. So many thoughts and memories jammed up there, all competing against each other for his attention.

“Hey,” she greets. “Look who’s awake.”

He presses his palms into his eyes in an attempt to clear some of the cobwebs, grimacing at the pain that kicks off in his right shoulder. 

“You okay?” she asks, as she places a hand on his stomach and leans over him, pressing a kiss to his lips. “Did you sleep alright?”

“Yeah…I think so…. what time is it?”

“Just a little after six. PM.”

“What?” those frowns in his forehead deepen, his frown becomes larger. “Six PM? What the hell…” he attempts to sit up using both of his elbows, then lets out a loud ‘fuck’ and collapses onto his back, clutching his right shoulder.

“Jesus, Tyler,” she sighs. “Can you not hurt yourself even more?”

“I forgot…about the shoulder…” he speaks through gritted teeth. “…shit…fuck…”

“Here…” she places an arm behind his back, and with the aide of his left elbow is able to get him into a sit. “…that okay?”

“Yeah…” he nods. Sweat glistens on his forehead, his breathing his ragged. His body very much feeling the damage that had been done to his body earlier, and the side effects of the medication he’d taken before drifting off. “I’ve been asleep? All that time?”

She nods. “I’ve been waking up every couple of hours. Just to be on the safe side. And I’ve been checking to make sure you’re still breathing every now and then.”

“Were you disappointed that I was?” he teases. “Still breathing?”

“No. I was pleasantly surprised. I’d miss you if you weren’t around anymore. How are you feeling?”

“I’m…confused…”

“About what?”

“What day is it?”

“It’s Tuesday. Why?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be on your date? That was Tuesday, wasn’t it? Or am I imagining things? Did I imagine that? You having a date with some other guy? Please tell me I was imagining that.”

“It’s not a date. It’s a ploy. To get information. But yes, that was today. But I said something came up and I asked for a rain check. So I could stay here with you and take care of you.”

“I bet that just broke your boyfriend’s heart. Did he cry?”

“Don’t be a smart ass,” she pecks his cheek. “You have any pain?”

“A bit,” Tyler admits. “My head is killing.”

“Do you want some of your meds? The doctor says you can take up to eight a day. If you need one…”

“No. I don’t want to take anything. I take enough. I’m fine.”

“You have to stay on top of the pain. Or else it’s going to be too much and…”

“I’m fine,” he insists, then smiles. “But thank you.”

She settles down next to him, turning her body into his, arm across his stomach, head on his chest. And he wraps his good arm around her, his palm softly stroking her arm. 

“Thank you,” he says once more, and drops a kiss on the top of his head.

“For what? The blow job in the shower? I bet that’s what helped you sleep so well.”

He grins. “Yeah, that was…nice.”

“Just nice?” she pouts dramatically. “That’s insulting. Way to hurt my feelings.”

“It was better than nice. Way better than nice. None of the nurses I had in the hospital ever did that for me.”

“All your nurses were elderly women with hairy lips and unibrows,” Esme points out.

“You made sure of that. Didn’t you. That I wouldn’t get any hot, young nurses. You wanted to be the only one giving me sponge baths and helping me to the john. And giving me blow jobs behind the curtain.””

“I can’t believe you even remember that,” she blushes and buries her face in her chest. “It was only a couple of times.”

“Excuse me? It’s was several times. And we did other stuff. When there was like a month left before I was released. What are you so embarrassed about?” he chuckles, and runs his hand over her hair, settling it on her lower back. “It was hot. Insanely hot. Worrying about getting caught? That just made it even better.”

“That seems like forever ago,” she muses. “It’s only been five and a half years. Millie’s going to be six. She’s going to be in school full time. The twins will be half a day. So you’ll just be stuck at home with me and Declan every day.”

“And the new baby.”

“There isn’t a new baby. Yet.”

“Not for lack of trying. And there could be. It could be why you haven’t been feeling well.”

“Tyler, let it go. I am not pregnant.”

“How would you know? You haven’t even taken a test.”

“Because I know my body. I know how I felt before I found out about the other three pregnancies I’ve already been through. This is not the same. This is stress and worry and being homesick. This is not a baby.”

“Well we could make one hundred percent sure either way if we just got a test and….”

“Tyler James, I swear to God. Let it go. Why are you in such a hurry to get me pregnant? What’s the breeding kink you have all of a sudden? You turn forty and this is what it does to you?”

“It’s not a kink. And it has nothing to do with how old I am. I just…I don’t know…it would be nice. To have another kid. One last one.”

“You said that about the twins, too. You were one hundred sure you didn’t want any more when I had them and then low and behold…”

“In all fairness, I never said I wanted another one when you got pregnant with Declan. You were on the pill. We were being careful. It just happened. So I actually did stop at the twins. It’s your body that decided it wasn’t finished it. So if you should be blaming anyone, it’s yourself.”

She sighs. “You’re insufferable.”

“I just think it would be nice to have one more. It’s not a kink. It’s not because I’m getting older. It’s because I love you and I love having a family with you. It’s my legacy. They’re my legacy. I want to leave something behind that carries on my name.”

“You have three sons already that will always have your last name. So…”

“It just would be nice to have a big family. That’s all.”

“We already have four. How big do you want it be?”

“I think we agreed we’d have one more. So why are we arguing about this? I don’t want to argue about this. About anything. I’m just saying, if you would just take a test, we’d find out for sure if you are. That’s all.”

“You know, just for you, because I love you and because you’re annoying the shit of me, I will buy a test and take it. Okay? Does that make you happy?”

“Yes. It always makes me happy when I get my way.”

“You really are an insufferable shit head,” she laughs, and kisses him, then tucks her head into the spot between his neck and his shoulder. 

“Well you knew that when I asked you to marry me and you still said yes, so what does that make you?” he presses his lips to her forehead, then drops his head back and closes his eyes. The pain is excruciating; spreading over the entire side of his head where the wound is, the stitches feeling impossible tight and stiff.

“I think it was a smart decision. You’re not the easiest person to live with, but I think I’ve mastered it. And I like having you around and I’d miss you like hell if you weren’t, so…”

“I’m stuck with you.”

“You’re stuck with me,” she confirms.

“There’s way worse fates than being stuck with you, that’s for sure. And we make really cute kids.”

“Yes,” she smiles. “We do,” she rubs his stomach softly, then slides her hand up to his right shoulder…the bad shoulder…and uses a fingertip to trace the roman numeral tattoo that graces his skin. “Tanner told me to tell you that he loves you and misses you.”

“Holy shit, you mean it only took him four years to acknowledge he has another parent?”

“Listen, Mister Rake. You’re already the favourite of the other three. Let me be the person one of them at least loves the most. Give me that much. I spent seven and a half months of sheer hell baking those twins, the least you could do is give me one of them all to myself.”

“Nope. Sorry. I kicked in all the good genes. And for the record, I did all the work while making them.”

“Oh bullshit! You have a very different recollection of when they were conceived than I do. It took all of like five minutes. Ten at the most. You were loaded that night. Like fall on your ass drunk. I’m surprised you could even get it up.”

“I could get it up with just a stiff breeze in the room. And you weren’t complaining at the time, were you. No. Did I get the job done? I got two jobs done. I got you off and I got you pregnant. We could say three jobs if we take into consideration I knocked you up with twins.”

“If you say super sperm, I will punch you in the side of the face and give you matching black eyes,” she warns, the nestles her face into his neck once again. Pressing a kiss to that short, yet thick scar. That one that will forever serve as a lasting reminder of the day she’d nearly lost him. “You scared the shit out of me,” she says.

“Are we talking about Dhaka or…”

“Well obviously Dhaka. But today. It felt like hours went by. Until you came back to the car. And then I saw you bleeding and torn to shit and…”

“I’m sorry,” his hold on her tightens, his hand resting just above her right buttock. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“What happened, Tyler? What did they do to you? What did you do to them?”

“It doesn’t matter, okay? All talking about it will do is upset you. And I don’t want to upset you so…”

“At least tell me what did this,” her fingers gently locate the beginning of the freshly stitched wound. “You don’t have to give me any other details. Just that one.”

“Esme…”

“Please?” she pulls back to look at him. “Tyler…please…just give that at least.”

He sighs. “It was a shovel. One of those garden ones. The metal kind.”

“What the fuck? Are you serious?

“Just the edge of it caught me. Not that whole thing. That would have knocked me out.”

“Or killed you.”

He nods. “I killed two of them. With it. The shovel.”

“You have a fetish for gardening tools or something?”

He can’t help but chuckle at that.

“How’d you kill the other two?”

“Broke their necks. With my bare hands. I did what I had to do. To get back to you. I had to make sure you were okay. That you were safe.”

She places a hand on the side of his face, fingertips pressing into his beard, encouraging him to look at her. Then she smiles and presses a kiss to his lips. “What did you see? When you found that Erin girl?”

“I’m not talking about that. You don’t need to know.”

“It was that bad?”

He nods, then swallows down a lump of emotion sitting square in his throat. “It was that bad,” he confirms. “And I knew, if we got caught there, if you got caught there, what they did to you would be a hundred times worse. And what happened to her? That was horrific. So if they got their hands on you…” he shakes his head, draws in a shaky breath. “…if would have been so much worse and they would have made me watch and…” he has to stop in order to compose himself. “…and I didn’t want that to happen. I didn’t want you going through that.”

“Tyler…” she whispers, and then pecks his lips before climbing into his lap. A knee on either side of his hips, her hands wound around his neck. “…what did you see?”

“I can’t,” he shakes his head. “I can’t tell you. Because I know how worse it would have been for you. And I know they would have made me watch and when I think about that…I can’t…I just can’t…”

She uses her thumbs to clear the tears off of his cheeks, then draws his head down to her chest. “It’s okay,” she says, her fingers combing through his hair. “It’s okay now.”

He nods in agreement, then wraps both arms around her waist. Not caring about his injured shoulder or the pain that shoots through him. 

All he wants to do is hold her. Forever.


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: a tad of smut but nothing too outrageous

He manages to sleep through the night. No tossing and turning, no nightmares, no pain. He remembers dreaming about Australia. Taking the kids to the ocean for the first time; the pure joy and excitement in their voices, the wondrous awe on their faces, their shouts and their giggles as they tried to run away from the tide each time it rolled in. It had been so vivid; he could feel the sand between his toes and the sun bathing his skin, he could smell both the salt of the water and the coconut scent that accompanied the kids’ sunscreen. 

They’d been older; Declan was the age the twins are now, Tanner and TJ were taller, their long limbs and torsos darkly tanned, their hair lighter and messy, Millie had rows of braids in her hair and she was well past his waist when she stood next to him. And there was another baby, a year old at that, that he carried on his hip. A little girl with thick dark hair and huge brown eyes. And Esme had been there; standing alongside of him, a hand on the small of his back, and she’d looked up at him with a smile unlike any one she’d ever given him before. It was peaceful. Truly content. A happiness that had been eluding her…eluding them both…since that day on the bridge in Dhaka. 

When he’d woken up, he’d been disappointed. A sense of sadness settling in as the reality of the situation quickly set in. That they were actually in Belfast; holed up in a hotel room that they can’t leave for safety reasons, listening to an intense thunderstorm as it rages outside, accompanied by the steady pounding of rain on the metal balcony railing. It is the first time he’s dreamed about home…his true home…since they’d left. He’s always missed it; the beaches, the surfing, the very few friends that he’d had, the little apartment had been their first place together, even the shack in the outback. But he’s never experienced the pangs that come with homesickness. Until now. 

He figures it’s the job. The craziness surrounding him. All the bizarre twists and turns and the uncertainty of it all. There’s no guarantee he is ever going to find those kids. It’s been a week since they’ve arrived and he’s no closer to an extraction that he was when he got on the plane in Colorado. It’s disheartening; usually he’s already in and out and has gotten back home. Occasionally things have gone so well that he’s been able to get two done in that frame home. But there’s nothing. Aside from proof of life. Not even the smallest hint on whereabouts of those kids. There’s a mother involved, a father that isn’t being forthcoming about all his information and maybe his own part in, a crime family from New Zealand in a turf war with the IRA. It’s a mess. A pure and utter fucking mess. 

There’s also a ‘let down’ one that comes after having to fight for your life. When your adrenaline and shock finally wear off and you’re left to deal with the aftereffects. Both physically and emotionally 

He rubs the sleep out of his eyes, then holds his hands out, palms down, and studies the wounds on his knuckles. Swollen. Discoloured. Deep cuts and lacerations that make it painful to move his fingers. But he opens and closes his hands away; repeatedly making tight fists and then releasing them, anxious to regain proper. It’s not his first time having busted up knuckles, and it most likely won’t be the last. The pain in his shoulder has lessened to some extent. The doctor had been successful on getting it back into the socket, but there was no guarantee that there wasn’t more significant injury done; not without proper x rays or even an CAT scan to rule it out. He’d been told prior to the reconstructive surgery three years ago that he had to take it easy…permanently…afterwards. He was only thirty seven at the time and one of their youngest patients yet, and they’d been hesitant on what to perform that invasive of a procedure on someone so young. Especially someone that was incredibly active and thrived on keeping in shape. The chances had been slim that the surgery would even be successful, and if it were, he’d been warned that he’d likely suffer another injury down the road that would cause even worse damage. 

He pushes that thought out of his mind; bringing his left arm across his body in order to rub at the tender and painful joint. It’s bearable; simply touching it doesn’t make him wince or lose his breath or bring tears to his eyes. All of which are an incredibly good sign. He presses his fingers into his scalp next; the area around the stitches still swollen and painful. But his vision seems normal again; no blurriness, no pain behind his eye, no haze over the pupil. 

Esme moves beside him. Rolling from her stomach onto her left side, facing away from him. The comforter pulled up to just below her ear, one leg sticking up and dangling over the edge of the mattress. Her skin is smooth and tanned, and he admires the curve of her muscles and the way the hamstrings curls up into the base of her ass. And he can’t help but feeling that familiar stirring below the waist. That tightness that forms in the pit of his stomach and the base of his spine. He knows what those legs feel like; their smoothness under his fingers and his mouth. What they feel like when they’re wrapped around his waist when he’s fucking her. What those thighs feel like against his ears when he’s going down on her. 

He rolls over onto his good shoulder, sliding across the bed until he’s pressed firmly against her back, ignoring the slight pain and discomfort in his right arm as he brings his hand up to clear hair away from her shoulders and the back of her neck. Beard rubbing against her smooth skin as he presses a series of feathery kisses along her flesh; his hand sliding over her hip and onto her stomach; licking, sucking, and nibbling his way over her shoulder and the nape of her neck as his fingers worked at undoing the small bow that keeps her pyjama pants from falling off her hips. He can feel and hear her breathing quicken, yet she doesn’t open her eyes. So he continues; his mouth moving up to the side of her neck and her ear, allowing his teeth to graze the skin just as he gets the bottoms undone and slips his hand inside of them. 

She sighs, eyes still closed as she pushes her ass back against him. And he can’t help but groan into her ear when she grinds against his already hard, aching cock. And he traces the outer edge of her ear with his tongue, taking the lobe between his teeth just as his hand cups her mound. 

“Mmmm…” she breathes, and wriggles once more against him, then bends her knee and plants her foot on the mattress, giving him even more access her pussy. “…baby….” 

“What?” his breath is hot against the side of her neck, cock pressing into her ass through the fabric of her pyjama pants, and he slips a finger inside of her. 

“…that feels so good…” she murmurs sleepily. “…don’t stop.” 

“I won’t,” he promises, and adds a second finger, pushing both in as far as they can go, until his palm is pressed against her. Working her deeply, slowly, until her breathing is ragged and she’s pushing her ass back into him, rubbing herself against his cock until he’s panting into her ear and the front of his boxers are moist with precum. It’s so simple yet so effective; the way she grinds against him, the way his fingers work her. Many mornings he’s woken her up just like this; or with his face buried between her legs. 

She reaches behind her and lays a hand on the back of his head, turning her face towards him and kissing him. Tongue pushing through his teeth and finding his; crying out into his mouth when he adds a third finger. Stretching her, preparing her; until her moisture is dripping down his fingers and coating the top of his hand and his palm. Continuing his ministrations until she’s dangerously close to completing and she breaks out of the kiss, her fingers curling around his wrist, attempting to pull his hand away. 

“Not like that,” she pants. “I want you inside of me. I need to feel you inside of me.” 

He bites down on her shoulder, just hard enough to slightly break the skin, then hastily shoves her bottoms over her ass and her hips, letting her to wriggle them all the way down and then kick them off her ankles as his own hands remove his shorts, and dropping them alongside the bed. His hand tightly grasping her thigh and bringing her leg to rest on her hip, the position and how wet she is allowing him to easily slip inside of her. She’s so familiar; the press of her body against his, the way she kisses him, that delicious tightness around his cock. But he never gets tired of how she feels. And he knows he never will. 

“Tyler…” his name leaves her mouth in a whisper, and her head falls forward as his lips descend on the back of her neck once again. Her hand reaching back to tug at his hair; even in the midst of their love making and the pleasure surging through she’s careful and tender, not wanting to cause him any more pain. “Tyler…” it’s louder now, responding to both his long, fluid strokes and his lips suckling at her skin. 

“Tell me what you want…” he encourages. “…or show me. Show me what you need.” 

She grabs his hand and moves it from her hip to between her legs, and she gives a small cry and shudders against him when he begins to rub at her clit. One fingertip moving in slow, agonizing circles as he continues to move inside of her, harder now, less control, his head falling forward and his brow resting on her shoulder. Feeling the way those internal muscles contract around his cock and her body begins to shudder as her orgasm nears. And he slows things down; reverting back to languid strokes as he presses the tip of his finger against her clit and she begins chanting his name. Over and over. Like a well rehearsed prayer. 

The orgasm hits quickly and she turns her face into the pillow, allowing it to muffle her scream. And he grunts and continues his pace despite those contractions and squeezes trying to keep him out. Harder, almost brutal thrusts that have her crying out, his fingers bringing her to a second, even more powerful completion as he spills himself inside of her, groaning against her shoulder. 

For several minutes they lie there; in a tangled mess of twisted sheets and sweaty limbs. Listening to the rumbling of the thunder and the pouring of the rain. 

She rolls over, pressing herself tightly against his chest, pecking his lips and pushing his hair off of his forehead. “Good morning,” she says, a sleepy, satisfied grin curving her lips. 

“Good morning. A very good morning.” 

“Is that kind of wake up call provided by the hotel or…” 

“No. That’s just something I came up with all my own.” 

“Well in that case, you can wake up like that more often.” 

It’s kind of hard at home to indulge in early more extra curriculars. Very rarely are they up before the kids. Especially Declan who still clings to the comfort and the security that having a having a feeding schedule provides him with. 

“I’d have to wake you up at five am and then you’d be bitching at me for waking you up that early, so…” 

“I will never bitch about a wake up like that. I promise.” 

He grins and presses his lips to her forehead. 

“Did you sleep okay?” she asks, as her fingers examine the day after extent of his injuries. Careful not to press too hard, concern narrowing her eyes and furrowing her brow as she combs through his hair to look at the stitches, then gingerly touches his nose and his black eye. “I normally know when you’re getting up in the middle of the night and I never felt you move or heard you at all.” 

“I slept straight through.” 

“That has happened in years. Since we were in Dhaka. Well, if we don’t count when you were in a medically induced coma. I thought for sure you would have gotten up at least once or twice for pain meds.” 

He shakes his head. “Slept like a rock. Not even your snoring woke me up.” 

She frowns. “I do not snore.” 

“You’re right. You just talk in your sleep about weird shit like having to buy ketchup and kitty litter and having to walk the rabbit.” 

“That happened once! And I was on heavy duty pain meds because your daughter’s big head split me from one end to the other when I gave birth to her.” 

“Don’t insult my daughter like that. She weighed seven pounds soaking wet.” 

“It still doesn’t make sense how someone your size can make such small babies. And why are they so big now? They’ve all got legs and torsos for days.” 

“I told you. Strong genes. I’m sorry. That’s just the way it is. Maybe the last one will look like you. Maybe.” 

“Speaking of last one, if I don’t end up pregnant from this trip, there’s something seriously wrong with one of us. Because there’s no way we can have this much unprotected sex and not make a baby. So hopefully your swimmers aren’t tired out from making the first four.” 

“My swimmers are doing just fine. And besides…” his hand moves down to her stomach. “…there could be one in there already.” 

“Tyler, don’t start that again. I already told you; I know how I feel when I’m pregnant and this is not like any of those times.” 

“Humour me. Just this once.” 

“You just want to prove you’re right and rub it in my face.” 

“So you’re admitting that I could be right.” 

“I never said that.” 

“You say you know what you’re body is like when you’re pregnant. Well I know what you’re like up here..   
he taps the end of his index finger against her forehead. “…when you are, and I am telling you, there’s a baby in you.” 

“When I get like what? What do I get like?” 

“You get weird.” 

She frowns. “Weird? In what way?” 

“Your moods. You’re up, you’re down. I don’t know what it’s going to be from one minute to next. You pick fights.” 

“I do not!” 

He grins. “You’re doing it right now, love.” 

“Only because you’re accusing me of behaving in ways I do not and…” 

“You get irrational. Overly sensitive. You cry if I even look at you the wrong way. You’re bitchy one second, and then wanting to be all cuddly and love up on me the next. You don’t sleep properly, you feel like you’re hungry but then you can’t eat because you say the look and the smell of it makes you sick. You get bitchy.” 

Her eyes narrow. “You said bitchy twice.” 

“Only because it had to be said twice because that is how bitchy you get. Double the bitchiness.” 

“If I’m bitchy maybe you’re the one that makes me that way,” she retorts. “Have you ever thought maybe that’s it? That you’re the one causes me be bitchy? Because you drive me absolutely fucking mental sometimes. You bring me here, to this fucking rainy ass country because you say you need my help and then you put all this other shit on me and then you wonder why I can’t eat or sleep? Are you being serious right now?” 

“Okay, calm down,” he chuckles. “ I wasn’t saying all of this to start a fight. I was just trying to point out that you may know what’s going on inside of you, but I’ve been around long enough to know when things are happening, too. I’ve been with you for five and a half years. For three pregnancies. I pay attention you know. I know when things start to get a little weird up in your head.” 

“Maybe things wouldn’t get weird up stairs if I didn’t always have to worry about you. If I didn’t have to pretend that I’m okay with you putting the job first in your list of priorities.” 

“Esme, that’s not true. You know that’s not true. You’re overreacting to what I said. All I was trying to say is that you’ve been acting weird in the same way you’ve been acting weird every time you’re pregnant. That’s all I was getting at. I’m not picking on you, I’m not trying to hurt your feelings. I’m just saying…” 

“Do you know what this is like?!” she cries. “Do you know what this is like for me, Tyler? Do you even stop to think about that? What it does to me every time you walk out the door and there’s no guarantee you’re going to come back? Do you ever stop and think about that?” 

“Of course I do. I think about it all the time. Calm down,” he pushes hair behind her ear, skims his knuckles across her cheek, presses a kiss to the tip of her nose. 

“Don’t tell me to calm down. You know how much I hate when you say that! I came here to help you. I came here because you needed me. And you left me! You left me in the fucking street and you went back. On your own!” 

“Esme, I did not leave you in the street. I sent you away.” 

“That’s your thing isn’t it, Tyler. Sending me away when things get too tough for you.” 

His eyes narrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“You know what it means. You sent me away. In Dhaka. You sent me away with Ovi and Saju. To cross that goddamn bridge.” 

“I sent you with them because it was the only way to get you across. What do you honestly think would have happened if I didn’t? What do you think would have gone down if I’d keep you with me?” 

“You could have gotten me across. We could have stuck together and…” 

“Bullshit!” he snaps. “That’s fucking bullshit and you know it! If we hadn’t have split up, we’d both be dead. Do you honestly think we would have made it out of that? Together? We would have both been killed. It was safer for you to send you with Saju and Ovi. Why can’t you understand that? Have I not explained this a thousand fucking times?” 

“No, you haven’t,” she shoves his hand off of her face and pushes herself into a sit, searching frantically through the mess of sheets and comforter for her pyjama bottoms. “And you know why you haven’t, Tyler? Because you won’t talk about it. It’s been five and a half years and you still won’t talk about it. And maybe sometimes…well sometimes I need talk about it!” 

“Then go to a fucking shrink and talk about it. You make me go to one.” 

“I don’t want to go to a shrink!” she jumps off the bed, yanking her bottoms on. “I don’t want to talk to a stranger! I want to talk to you! I want to talk to my husband!” 

“Esme, we are not on the same page with this. With Dhaka. We never have been. I’m living in the here and now and you’re living in the past. It was five and a half years ago. Why can’t you just let it go? You were doing fine with it. Everything was fine. Once we moved to Colorado, you didn’t dwell on it anymore. You stopped having nightmares, you stopped obsessing over it, you stopped…” 

“I never stopped! I made you think I did! I made you think I was fine because it made things easier on you. Because all of your guilt and all this blame you put on yourself. I let you think I was okay. But I wasn’t. I’ve never been okay, Tyler. And I don’t know if I ever will be.” 

Silence descends on the room; the truth hanging heavily between them. It shouldn’t surprise him; he’d suspected a long time ago that she was having a harder time than she let on. That some of the past was still weighing her down and was rushing to let her rest. That maybe some of their problems…their horrible fights and the terrible things they say to one another…was all those demons that she kept buried deep down inside. But he’d been hopeful. That first morning when they’d woke up in Colorado, she’d seemed like a different person; she was happy, she laughed more and smiled easily. As if she’d left behind all that baggage on that final trip to the Sultana Kamal Bridge. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, as she flops down on the edge of the bed, her back facing him. “I didn’t mean to snap on you like that. You didn’t deserve that. Everything you’ve done to always keep me safe and make sure I’m okay and that’s how I treat you? I’m sorry, Tyler.” 

“Esme…” he sighs heavily, climbs into a pair of sweats draped over one of the chairs by the window, and then journeys to her side of the bed. She’s crying now; huge, silent tears that stream down her face. She’s cried before in front of him, naturally. But never like this. Not with such ferocity. “…baby…it’s okay…” 

“No, its not. Don’t say that. It’s not okay to say those things to you. It’s never okay. After everything you’ve done and everything you’ve been through…” 

“You think I expect some kind of praise for it? That I need you to validate it? That’s not why I do it,” he kneels down in front of her, hands on her knees. “Esme…look at me…please…” 

“I can’t…I know what I’m going to see if I look at you…I’m going to see anger and hate and…” 

“Baby, no. That’s not what you’re going to see. That is what you’re brain is telling you you’re going to see. Please…just look at me…” 

She finally relents, and he takes her face in his hands and uses his thumbs to clear her tears away. 

“I need you to listen to me. I need you to look at me and listen to me. I need you to actually hear what I’m saying. Can you do that?” 

She nods. 

“I sent you with Ovi and Saju because I knew I couldn’t get both of us to the bridge. I knew if you’d stayed with me, I would have been caught up trying to keep you alive and I would have been no help to him. I had to clear the way for them to get through. Draw attention away from the roadblocks. And the only way I could do that, was if I was alone. I’d you been with you, it would have been about keeping you alive and they would have died. Do you understand that?” 

Another nod. 

“And if I’d been killed, what would have happened to you? You would have been left alone, in Dhaka, trying to get yourself to the bridge. And you never would have got there. You know that, right? That if we’d been together and I died, you would have died too. I knew if I sent you with them, your chances were a hell of better of getting out of there. That’s why I did. I didn’t send you away because I wanted to. I sent you away because I had to.” 

“I was so mad at you,” she admits. “I was so mad and you at my heart was broken and I was worried I’d never see you again. And then when you did get to the bridge…” the tears come again, and she frantically wipes at them. “…there was nothing I could. To help you. And I wanted to. I wanted to go to you and Nik wouldn’t let me but Ovi got away and…” she takes a shaky breath. “…and I thought maybe you hated me because you thought I left you there.” 

“You mean the first time? With the sniper?” 

She nods. “Nik wouldn’t let me go to you but Ovi got away. And I was scared you were angry at me and hated me and…” 

“Esme, I was never angry at you. I’ve never hated you. Ever. At that point? When just Ovi came? I thought maybe you didn’t make it. That you were already dead. Or maybe you’d already gotten out of there and you were safe.” 

“But you knew I was there right? After? When Fahrad shot you. You knew I was there with you? On the sidewalk?” 

“I knew you were there. I don’t know if I saw you. But I could hear you. And I could feel your hand on my neck. I knew you were there.” 

“I wasn’t going to leave you there, Tyler. There was no way I was going to leave you there. Just like I wasn’t going to leave you in that hospital. I wasn’t going to let you get rid of me that easily.” 

He gives a small laugh, then places his hand on the back of her head and places a kiss on her forehead. 

“Now you’re stuck with me. With all my craziness and my messed up head.” 

“I’m not stuck with you. I stay because I love you. Because I’ve never loved anyone the way that I love you. And because we have a good life together. It’s not perfect, but it’s perfect for us. And we have four beautiful kids and maybe…” he lays a hand on her stomach. “…another one the way. I don’t want another life, Esme. I want this life. With you.” 

“You are a glutton for punishment,” she scoffs. 

“And I didn’t leave you in the street yesterday. I needed you out of there. When I saw what they did to that girl? I knew they’d do worse if they got a hold you. And I know they would have made me watch. And I would not have survived that. That’s why I sent you away. To protect you. You know that, yeah?” 

“I do.” 

“It’s okay,” he draws her head down to his shoulder, both of her arms circling his neck, his free hand resting on her back. “It’s okay now. It felt good, right? To get all that out?” 

“Yeah…it did…I need help, Tyler. I need help getting over this. Getting over Dhaka. I can’t do it by myself.” 

“We’ll get you help. When we get home, we’ll find someone. Okay?” 

She nods. 

“It’s okay now…” he rubs her back soothingly. “…it’s okay, baby.” 

“Maybe I should get a test,” she sniffles. “Maybe I am acting a little…weird.” 

“You think?” 

“This won’t need be a good time for this. For another baby.” 

“Were any of them a good time? You got pregnant with Millie in Dhaka and found out when I was in the hospital. The twins we found out about in Mumbai. And Declan…well I guess he’s the only one that we found out about in a normal time and a normal place.” 

“There’s nothing normal about how that kid came to be,” she laughs. “I mean, I was on the pill. He technically shouldn’t even be here.” 

“But he is. And he’s amazing. They all are. We did good, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” she pulls back and smiles at him. “We did. Even if they do all look and act just like you.” 

“Maybe this one will be the one that looks like you. You can always dream, right? Maybe I did use up all the good genes on the first four. Now yours have to pick up the slack.” 

She smirks. “You’re a real asshole sometimes.” 

“But you love me. For some reason.” 

“You make it easy to love you. Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately? You’re kind of cute.” 

“You’re kind of cute too.” 

“How cute?” 

“Lots and lots of cute.” 

“You sound so much like your daughter when you say that,” she laughs, and then rests her head on his shoulder once again. “I do love you, you know.” 

“I know,” he presses a kiss to her temple. “I love you too. It’s going to be okay. We’ll get home and everything will go back to normal.” 

“Soon?” she asks hopefully. 

“Soon,” he promises. “And I’m going to take that job. The one that Nik offered.” 

“I don’t want you to do it because it’s what I want, Tyler. I want you to do it because you want to do it.” 

“It is what I want. You heard what Nik said. It’ll be like having a normal job. I won’t have to go out of town as much. The pay will be good. I get to be home more with you and the kids. And if we are having another baby, you’re going to need help with that. This would be the first time I get to be there for the whole thing. Where I can actually go to doctor’s appointments and ultrasounds and all of that. I’ve never been able to go to everything. And I almost didn’t make it to see the twins born. I don’t want to miss all those things. I want to be there. With you. For you.” 

“I want that too.” 

“But before I take it, I think we should go away. All of us. To Australia. I want the kids to see where I’m from. I want to take them to beach. Teach them to surf. Even show them the place we met.” 

“Meet their long last sibling. Bathroom chicken.” 

“Yeah, even let them meet the chicken. And maybe…maybe…take them to see my dad.” 

She pulls back to look at him, sweeping his hair off his forehead. “I think you should. Take them to see him. He is their grandfather.” 

“He might not want to have a relationship with me, but I figure I should at least let him decide for himself if he wants a relationship with them.” 

“You should try calling him, Tyler. While you’re here. You haven’t tried in a couple months and…” 

“I gave up, you know that. How many messages do I have to leave? How many letters have to get sent back?” 

“I have a confession to make. And I didn’t tell you before because I knew you were angry at him and you were hurt and…” 

“What did you do?” 

“I’ve talked to him. Your dad. A few times. And I’ve sent him pictures. Of the kids. And of all of us together.” 

“When?” 

“I started after we brought Declan home. I sent him a picture of you holding Declan right after he was born. And he called me. To thank me. And he said that he was beautiful and that he looked just like your mom. But he asked me not to tell you that he was in contact with me.” 

“Why? He hates me that much?” 

“He doesn’t hate you at all, Tyler. You’re his son. His only child. But he does hate himself. For so many things. And he wasn’t ready to tell you that. He told me that you brought Millie to see him. Before we left for Mumbai. That things were said…by both of you…and that you didn’t leave on good terms. And he really regrets that.” 

“Why is he telling you all this? Why wouldn’t he just pick up the phone and call me and say it all himself?” 

“Because you were angry. And hurt. And when those two emotions come together, you’re not the easiest person to deal with. I’m used to it. I have five and a half years of experience. I know you better than you know yourself sometimes. But your dad? Your dad doesn’t know you at all.” 

“And that’s somehow my fault?” 

“Tyler, I didn’t say that. I’m not placing any blame on you. I never have. You know I’ve always placed the blame on him. That I hate how he raised you. How he filled you with all this toxic masculinity bullshit. How you had to see what he did to your mom and how he tried to teach you that that’s the way women deserve to be treated. I’ve always hated those things and I’ve always told you that.” 

“Yeah…” he admits. “…you have.” 

“And you are not like your father,” she stresses, as she holds his face in both her hands. “At all. You’re a good man with a huge heart. And you love deeply. Look how much you love your kids. How much you love me. You wouldn’t be capable of all that love if you were anything like him. And would I not kick your ass if you acted like him?” 

He can’t help but laugh at that. “You would.” 

“I told him I would tell when the time was right. About being in contact with him. And he asked me that when I did, if I’d ask you if you’d be willing to talk to him. So when you brought up taking a trip to Australia and taking the kids to see your dad, I figured it was a sign. That it was time to tell you. I didn’t keep it from you to hurt you. I just knew you weren’t ready yet to hear it. Don’t be mad me, okay? I did it for a good reason. I really did.” 

“I know,” he pecks her lips. “I know you did.” 

“You should call him, Tyler. Reach out to him. I know it’s not easy considering everything that’s been said and done. Especially when you were a kid. But he’s not getting any younger and if there’s things you need to say…good or bad…you need to say them. I don’t want something and you having that kind of regret in your heart. Because I’ve lived with that regret every day since my dad died. And it’s painful and I don’t want that for you.” 

He runs his knuckles along her cheek, then leans in to kiss her. Long and soft and sweet. 

“Just think about it, okay? You don’t have to do it until you’re ready. But at least think about it. It would do you good. To talk to him and say the things you need to. But you have to be ready for that. And speaking of ready…” she lays a hand on her stomach. “…maybe we should take a test. You never know. Maybe you’re right. For once.” 

“I’ve been right before. I’ve been right lots of times.” 

“Or maybe I just let you think you’re right sometimes.” 

He scowls. “You wouldn’t.” 

“Oh I would. I’m have more power over you than you think.” 

“Yeah? And what kind of power to do you think you have over me?” 

“I bet…” she places a fingertip against his lips, then slowly lets it trail down his body; over his chin and Adam’s apple, down his chest and onto his stomach, and then hooks it in the waist band of his sweats. “… if I was to tell you take me back to bed right now and ravish me, you would.” 

He grins, then tackles her backwards onto the bed. “You’re right,” he says, as she giggles and squirms underneath him as his beard rubs against her skin. “You do have the power.”


	37. Chapter 37

It’s been two days since the incident at McMann’s house, and the worst of the physical aftereffects have begun to dissipate. The pain that lingers in the shoulder has lessened; nothing more than a dull, throbbing ache that settles right in the joint and often travels straight down to his fingers. The black eye is at its peak, a vivid shade of purple and some blue that spreads to the top of the cheek and over to the side of his nose. The scalp is still tender to the touch, but the headache is gone, and he’s no longer plagued by periods of dizziness and nausea; the concussion…or at least the worst of it…now behind him. 

They’ve been in hiding for forty-eight hours. No contact with the outside world aside from phone calls home and the video chats with Nik on the FBI’s secure satellite link. Even Yaz has stayed his distance, working closely with Mark on finding any information regarding Heather McMann’s -and the children’s- whereabouts. It’s been nothing but dead ends. McMann hasn’t attempted any communication; there’s been radio silence from his end of things. Yet Tyler knows he’s out there. That either he…or someone he’s recruited or hired…is just lying in wait for the chance to get revenge. In McMann’s eyes he’s crossed a line; going to the house without permission, discovering the things he had, leaving four men dead in the backyard. He’s out for blood now. The need for finding his children now outweighed by the need for vengeance. He’s in on it. Working side by side with his wife; a sick and twisted game that only leads to more questions and dead in. Tyler just can’t prove it. He knows there’s a connection, but he can’t seem to find what he needs to join all the loose ends. While Heather’s abduction was very much stage, the nightmare the kids are being put through is very real. What is the purpose? On faking one but following through with the others? With weaving a web so tight and so intricate? And what kind of sick person uses their children like that in the first place? 

Proof. He needs proof. 

And answers. So many answers. 

He leaves Esme sleeping and journeys out onto the balcony; a cup of coffee from room service in one hand, SAT phone in the other, and he takes a seat on one of the plastic chairs and places his feet up on the metal railing. He’s tired; mentally and physically. It’s six in the morning; eleven at night -previous day- in Colorado, and he briefly considers calling the house phone before dialling Ovi’s cell instead. He doesn’t want to wake the kids, or startle his mother in law, or even let Nik know that he’s reaching out. He’s tired of things being sugar coated; of being told that everything is fine when his instincts are telling him that they’re far from it. Maybe the kids aren’t feeling it; they’re little and still so pure and innocent and the only thing that matters to them is that mommy and daddy call at least once a day. And eventually come home. But he knows there is more going on than what Nik is telling him. Things have been so fucked up from the get-go and there’s no way some of that hasn’t reached Colorado by now. 

“Did I wake you up?” he asks, after Ovi’s given the standard ‘what’s up?’ and a loud yawn. 

“I was starting to doze. The kids made me sleep in the backyard in the tent. Again. This is the fifth night in a row. My back hurts.” 

“You guys aren’t out there by yourselves, are you? There’s guys keeping in eye on things, yeah?” 

“There’s a few,” Ovi confirms. “They switch out every couple of hours.” 

“Have the kids said anything? About why these guys are there?” 

“They’ve asked a couple times. Why there’s people walking around and checking things out. I just told them that it makes you and Esme feel better that they’re here. That you guys hate being that far from home and you worry about them and having people here makes you worry less. That makes them happy. They like that answer.” 

“And they’re doing okay?” 

He misses them…misses his life…terribly. So much it’s physically painful at times. And for a brief second, he wishes he could go back in time; to when they still been in that little apartment in Australia, before Ovi had started receiving all those threats and photos. So he could make a different decision. Say no when it became apparent that his help was needed and there was no one else who could do the job. Things would be so different. They never would have gotten caught up in that kind of bullshit; they’d never would have ended up in Mumbai and then back in Dhaka. Where the nightmare had started in the first place. 

The other side of him holds onto the old adage that ‘things happen for a reason’. If he’d never gone to help Ovi the second time around, the chances were slim to none that he would have become part of their family. He’d never would have gone to see Mahajan Senior and pushed the issue of guardianship and Ovi would have been stuck in Mumbai and the vicious circle of him always needing Tyler’s help would have continued. Gaspar had been right about that; there was no way to keep him safe with his old man in jail. And the kid still would have never known what it was like to be loved. To have people that legitimately care about him and his well-being. They hadn’t just taken Ovi in to protect him, but to give him somewhat of a normal life. The chance to respected and seen as a person, not an object. To be loved. 

“They get a little sad every now and then,” Ovi says. “They miss you guys. TJ is taking it the worse. He gets really upset. Really angry.” 

“Yeah, unfortunately he’s got a mix of his mother’s sensitive side and my temper. So he tends to go off the rails from time to time. No more fights? No one has beaten the shit of anyone lately?” 

“Not lately. But Millie is a lot tougher than she looks. She totally kicked his ass.” 

“She’s small, but she’s mighty. Like her mother. She’s a force to be reckoned with that one. But other than that, they’re okay? They haven’t driven anyone to drink excessively yet? Grandma hasn’t found a bridge to jump off? Not that would be a horrible thing, but…” 

“No,” Ovi laughs. “Everything is good. No one has gone crazy. Yet. Chloe is really good with them. She has a lot more patience than I do. And they really love her. They like having her around.” 

“Yeah?” Tyler grins. “I bet you like having her around too.” 

“Maybe,” Ovi sheepishly admits. “Just a little.” 

“That’s how it all starts. You get used to having them around, you realize how much you like it when they are, you don’t ever want them to leave, and the next thing you know, you’re married and you’ve got four kids and one on the way and…” 

“Wait? What? I think there’s something wrong with the connection. I thought I just heard you say one on the way? Is that what you said?” 

“Yeah,” he grins. “We just found out. Two days ago. You’re the only one back home who knows. So if you’d just keep it on the downlow for now…” 

“This is amazing!” Ovi gushes. “Another baby! You guys make such cute babies. You should have more. Like two or three more and…” 

“This is the last one. We’re done. We’re closing up shop. Five will be more than enough. Besides, in a few years you’re probably going to be out on your own and you’re going to find someone to have your own babies with. You won’t need to rely on us to get your baby fix.” 

“I’m not going anywhere for a long time,” Ovi declares. 

It’s the immaturity creeping in; the trauma that been inflicted on him making him seem so much younger than his years. As if he’s the old Ovi again; that terrified and scarred yet trusting teenager that got him to open up about his own life and the mistakes of his past. It seems like a lifetime ago; when he’d had nothing to lose and death seemed like a welcome escape. Now death is what terrifies him the most. Back then he would have welcomed it, now he’s desperately trying to escape it. 

“I just want to stay with you guys,” Ovi says. “Forever.” 

“Well, we don’t mind if you do. We kind of like having you around. But one day you are going to want to move on with your life. We’re not always going to be the most important people in your world.” 

“Yes,” Ovi says. “You are. I don’t want to leave. I want to stay. With you and Esme. And the kids. I’d miss you all too much. You guys are my family. You’re not my real parents, but you’re still my parents. You’re still my mom and dad. Even if we don’t have the same blood and our skin isn’t the same colour.” 

Emotion chokes at him; stunned by the teenager’s heartfelt honesty. He’d never really considered himself to be the kid’s dad. A big brother, maybe. A father figure for sure. But he’d never used the ‘d word’ and Ovi had never dropped it until now. But he knows he loves that kid; like one his own. And he’d lay his life down on the line for him the same way he would for the kids he’d actually had a hand in making. 

“I’m happy for you guys,” Ovi says. “That you’re having another baby. That I get another brother or sister.” 

“Well if Esme has her way, it’ll be another girl,” Tyler smiles at the mere thought of it. Having another little girl. One that looks like her mother; dark hair and huge dark eyes and a smile that can bring even the strongest of men to their knees. “I think she’s tired of there being so many guys in the house. And Millie definitely will not want another brother. She wanted to trade Declan in for a puppy when he was born.” 

Ovi laughs at that. 

“Look, mate,” Tyler begins, and take a swig of coffee. “I need you to be straight with me. When I ask you what I’m about to ask. Because I don’t think I’m getting the honest truth from Nik. And I need you to tell me the truth. Even if you think it’s going to piss me off. Can you do that?” 

“I think so.” 

“I don’t need you to think so. I need you to know so. Because this is fucking hard; being so far from my kids. And I don’t trust a lot of people and I’m over here trying to put all I have into guys I’ve never even met. I’m trusting complete strangers to take care of my kids and it’s fucking killing me. There isn’t a second of the day that goes by where I don’t want to say ‘fuck it’ and get on the next plane and come home. So I need you to tell me the truth.” 

“Okay,” the kid sounds nervous, but steadfast. “I’ll tell you the truth.” 

“How are things really? Because shit is hitting the fan over here and I’ve pissed some people off that won’t think twice about bringing trouble there. They won’t hesitate getting revenge on me by going after my family. Because they know that’s what would hurt the most. What would destroy me. They won’t come after me because they know it would take a lot to kill me. So they’ll resort to doing anything they can to break me.” 

It still haunts him. What he’d seen when he’d found Erin Ferguson in that room. The things that had been done to her. The way her naked body had been mutilated and put on display. And he knows…with one hundred conviction…that if they’d been caught in McMann’s ‘bunker’, the things they would have done to Esme would have been even worse. And they would have done whatever it took to make sure he was fully conscious and able to watch what they were doing. 

There mere thought makes him feel sick to his stomach. Tears burn his eyes. And he squeezes them shut as tight as he can in hopes of ridding himself of not only what he saw, but what he imagines he could have seen. 

“How are things there?” he asks. “How are they really? Don’t bullshit me, mate. I need the truth.” 

“The kids are doing really good. They’re behaving themselves and Chloe and I are making sure we keep them busy and happy.” 

“I don’t mean that. I trust you. You’re one of the few people I do trust. I know the kids are in good hands. What I need to know is if there’s been anything weird going on. If there’s been any kind of trouble. Any suspicious shit going on.” 

Ovi sighs. “Nik told me not to talk to you about this…” 

“Fuck Nik. I stopped listening to Nik a long time ago. She thinks she knows what’s best for me and in reality, she knows shit. What’s going, kid? Tell me what’s going on.” 

“There’s been some things,” he reluctantly admits. “Nothing too bad, but…” 

“What kind of things?” 

He knew it was coming. That it was bound to happen. As soon as he’d nearly crushed McMann’s throat, he became enemy number one, the clock was ticking. He went from being the only one who could save the McMann kids to being the first on the other man’s shit list. For that alone he wanted to tell McMann to go fuck himself and just get on the next plane home. But he can’t. His conscience won’t let him. Those kids are still out there. Still being tortured in some kind of sick and twisted game being conducted by their own mother. If he doesn’t get them out, no one will. And that guilt and blame will follow him forever. 

“People calling the house and hanging up. There were some pictures. Someone put them in the mailbox.” 

His stomach lurches. “What kind of pictures?” 

“Pictures of the kids. Out on the street. Some of them at school. Pictures of Esme and Millie together downtown. Pictures of all of you together.” 

In the grand scheme of things, pictures are relatively harmless. It’s the threat that usually accompanies them or follows them that’s the issue. 

“What else? I can tell there’s something else, Ovi. What is it?” He doesn’t use the kid’s name that often, as strange as it sounds. The last time he’d used in while addressing him personally was when the kid had still been in the midst of all his mental health issues and causing all kinds of shit at home and they’d had an epic blow out about it. 

“They showed up at the house.” 

His chest tightens. As do his hands. The left one immediately forming a fist so tight his knuckles crack and start to turn to white. The fingers of the right pressing into the sides of the phone with enough force to crack the plastic protective covering. There’s no anxiety. No fear. Just rage. Pure, unadulterated rage. 

“They? Who is ‘they’?” he asks, and he can hear it in his own voice; his temper threatening to take hold. In the same way it had when he’d nearly broken McMann’s neck with his bare hands. 

“I don’t know. Three guys. They came here looking for you.” 

“Did you see them? What did they look like?” 

“I didn’t see them. I only heard them. As soon as Nik saw them pull into the driveway, she made me take the kids into the basement. Where you’ve always told me to take them in case there’s trouble. But I could hear them. Talking to her. They had accents. They weren’t American.” 

“Were they Irish? Were they Irish accents?” 

“No. I would have recognized that for sure. They almost sounded just like you. But different. Words sound a certain way when you say them. You have slang words for different things. Their slang words weren’t the same. But their accents sounded a lot like yours does, but they were still different at the same time.” 

“New Zealand? Were they from New Zealand?” 

“I don’t know what New Zealand people sound like,” he admits. 

“They sound like me. But a little different like you said. Shit…fuck…” he drags a hand through his hair. His brain can’t quite possibly handle trying to put this all together on its own. The meds, the damage that had been when he’d lost so much blood and been oxygen deprived, the depression, the anxiety…all working together to completely fuck with him. 

It doesn’t make any sense. He all but expected McMann to send someone. He’d been waiting for it, actually. But someone connected to the Buckman family? And why the fuck would they show up in Colorado in the first place? They have to know he is already Ireland, or else he wouldn’t have been made the second he got on the damn plane. 

It’s a ploy. It has to be. Either a scare tactic to get him off the trail in Ireland and have him running back home to protect his own family, or to actually make sure he isn’t in Colorado, meaning that his family is alone and vulnerable. 

“Do me a favour,” he says to Ovi. “Go on the internet and look up New Zealand accent. Go and google it. Do it right now. Don’t hang up. Go and look it up and listen to it and then tell me if it’s the same.” 

“Okay…” 

He sits with an elbow on his knee and his palm pressed to his forehead; the adrenaline has started to stir. And he can’t stop himself from vigorously shaking his thigh from side to side or repeatedly tapping his toes against the concrete below; top teeth digging into his bottom lip. 

“It’s the same,” Ovi confirms when he finally returns. “That’s the accent I heard.” 

“You’re one hundred percent sure? I need you to be one hundred percent sure, mate.” 

“I’m sure. No doubt about it. I know that’s the accent I heard.” 

“Okay, I want you to listen to me very carefully. I want you to do everything I say, alright?” 

“Okay.” 

“Go into the garage. You know where the loft area is? Go up there. There’s a trunk with a lock on it. I’ll text message you the combination. There’s money in there. A lot of money. And there’s weapons. Lots of them. I need you to take both, understand me?” 

“I understand.” 

“I want you to take the kids and Chloe and get them the fuck out of there. Even the dog. Take him too. He’s what will keep the kids from losing their shit. I want you to get away from the house. I don’t care if it’s just to Denver or if you have to go to an entirely different state. Don’t tell anyone where you’re going and do not call anyone except me when you get there. Tell Esme’s mom to go back home. Tell her I said not to talk to anyone. That if someone comes to her place looking for information, she doesn’t give them any. Are you getting all of this?” 

“I am,” he confirms. 

“I want you get a different cell phone. To call me from. Even get Chloe a new one. Use some of the money I told you about. You don’t use any phone but that one to get in contact with me, you hear me?” 

“I do.” 

“Do not go back to the house unless I tell you too. You find a place for all of you to stay and you keep your ass there. The only time I want you leaving is if you think people have found you.” 

“What about Nik? What do I tell her?” 

“I’ll worry about Nik. I’ll deal with her. She won’t want me to, but I will. I’ve to go. I’ve got shit I need to piece together somehow. As soon as I hang up, you start getting everything going. Do not contact me until you’ve got a new phone. Get rid of the other one. Burn it, stomp on it, I don’t give a shit. Just get rid of it.” 

“Okay…” he sounds nervous. Like that fourteen-year-old kid back in Dhaka. “Tyler?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Things are going to be okay, right?” 

“I hope so, mate,” he says. “I really hope so.” 

**** 

He leaves a hastily written note on her pillow; right next to her head, so she won’t miss it. She’ll panic if she wakes up and not only finds his side of the bed empty, but him missing from the room entirely. So he lets her know that he’s gone to see Yaz, and that if he’s not back in an hour after she discovers the note, that’s when she needs to start freaking out. And he tells her not to open the door. To anyone. Not room service, not housekeeping, not even Mark if he shows up. 

He takes the stairs as opposed to the elevator. Less chance of running into someone; the confined space of the elevator only putting him at a serious disadvantage if someone did climb aboard with the sole intent of causing trouble. He takes the stairs two at a time; the rage has fully taken over, making him numb to any physical pain that he knows he should be feeling. He’s pissed off; at McMann for holding back information, at Heather McMann for using her kids and allowing people to abuse and torture them, at Nik for keeping the truth from him, at whoever has the goddamn nerve to show up at his house. At himself for even getting mixed up in such a godawful shitty mess. 

He reaches Yaz’ room and pounds his fist against the door. To hell with your average, normal knocking. He is way beyond being polite, all decorum and niceties completely out the window. And when he gets no answers, he uses the toe of one of his boots to get the job done; repeatedly slamming it against the wood until it violently shakes and makes an audible crack. 

“What the fuck, man?” Yaz speaks from a slit in the door; not opening it farther than the chain will allow. 

“Open the door.” 

“No. This isn’t a good time. Can’t you read? The sign says ‘do not disturb’.” 

“Open the fucking door, now!” Tyler bellows, and Yaz gives a startled blink and then hurriedly tends to the chain. 

“What the hell is wrong? What…?” 

He pushes his way into the room. “Did you know? About the people that came to my house? Did you know about that?” And it’s then that he sees the half-naked woman in Yaz’ bed, frazzled and embarrassed, trying her best to throw on some clothes. The waitress from the coffee shop they’d visited their second day in town. 

“Do you mind?” she shrieks. 

“Yeah, I fucking do! Get your shit…” Tyler snags the remaining apparel off the floor and tosses it at her. “…and get the fuck out!” 

“Don’t argue,” Yaz address her. “Not when he’s like this. Not when he’s capable of tearing us both to pieces.” 

He paces the room as Yaz helps his guest get herself sorted and out the door; raking his hands through his hair, wincing when his fingers come in too close of contact with the stitches in his scalp. The rage is intense; almost unbearable. Sweat beading on his brow, forming at his temples, his breathing irregular. He knows he needs to get it together; Yaz isn’t the enemy. And at this point he’s liable to beat the ever-loving shit out of him if he even glances at him the wrong way. 

“What the hell man?” Yaz snarls. “Do you see me interrupting you when you’re about get laid?” 

“I don’t give a shit where you were about to stick your dick, mate. I don’t give a fuck if it was the waitress from the coffee shop or you hired a hooker. Did you know? About what’s been going on at my house? About the pictures? About the phone calls? About people showing up there?” 

“Tyler…just calm down, man…just…” 

“Did you fucking know?!” he snarls, and Yaz holds his hands up in a plea for mercy when he takes a step towards him. 

“Okay…okay…you need to just take a breath and calm down…” 

“That’s my family! That’s my fucking kids! There’s people sending shit to my house! They’re showing up there. Where my fucking kids live! Don’t you tell me to take a breath and calm down. Did you know about it? Did your sister tell you?” 

“Yes…” he reluctantly admits. “…she did. But…” 

“But? How can there be a but?! You knew that people were threatening my family and you didn’t tell me?!” 

“Nik asked me not to. She knows what you get like. We both know what you get like. I mean, you’re here, flipping your shit on me. I’m not the enemy here, Tyler. I’m not the one that is threatening your family. But you’re acting like I’m personally involved in it somehow.” 

“You knew and you didn’t tell me. That makes you just as bad. So don’t give me that shit. Don’t play the victim.” 

“I knew if I told you, this would happen. That you’d completely lose it.” 

“Do you blame me? Do you really fucking blame me? Those are my kids, Yaz. My family. The only reason I’m still alive and I didn’t put a bullet in my head years ago. They’re the only reason I keep doing this shit; trying to solve everyone else’s goddamn problems while my own life feels like it’s falling apart! It never should have come to this. I should never have gotten mixed back up in this shit. When your sister asked four years ago, I should have told her to go fuck herself and to find someone else.” 

“But you didn’t. And you know why?” 

“I’m fucking brain damaged, that’s why. Maybe the doctors shouldn’t have worked so hard when I coded in the OR. Maybe it would have been better if they’d just let me die. Because I wouldn’t be here right now putting up with all this bullshit! I wouldn’t be thousands of miles away from kids while some asshole is sending people to prey on them.” 

“If you’d died, those kids wouldn’t even exist,” Yaz reminds him. “Your life, the one you know, wouldn’t exist.” 

“Yeah, and maybe that’s the way it should have been. None of this existing. Because my kids shouldn’t have to put up with this. My wife shouldn’t have to put up with this; me taking off to fight other peoples fucking battles and not even taking the time to fix ours.” 

“I thought things were good. I thought…” 

“I’m not talking about now. I’m talking about when she kicked my ass out because she was tired of me breaking her goddamn heart all the time. And yet she still took me back. Even though I didn’t deserve another chance. I promised her it would be different. That I’d be different. And now look. Now look at the bloody mess I’m in. That I’ve brought her into. She deserves better than this, Yaz. She’s always deserved better than this. Better than me.” 

“You’re each other’s ride or die,” he says. “Always have been. Since the beginning.” 

“Well I’d rather my wife not die, if it’s all the same to you. Why didn’t you tell me? Why’d you keep this from me?” 

“Nik asked me to.” 

“Excuse me for saying this, but fuck Nik. You should have told me. We’re friends. We’re friends and this is my family we’re talking about.” 

“She knew if you found out that you’d leave. That you could back home.” 

“Do you really blame me? I should go home. I should get on the next plane out of here and go home to my kids. Because they need me. Now more than ever.” 

“The McMann kids need you too.” 

“I’m sorry if this sounds harsh or makes me look like an asshole, but my kids are more important to me than those two.” 

“And they should be. But you need to do this. And you know you need to do this. That you need to stay and find them. Would you be able to live with yourself, Tyler? Knowing you left them here to die.” 

He shakes his head, giving a derisive snort. “Don’t do that. Don’t put that on me. Don’t ask me to choose between my family and complete strangers. Because my family will come first. Every time.” 

“Tyler, your family is safe. There’s people that can protect them. But the McMann kids? They have no one. There’s no one else looking for them. There’s just you. No one else cares. Not even their own parents. If you leave, they die. It’s as simple as that. They only have you. Whether they realize that or not. And I know you, man. I know how your brain works. You’d go home and you’d try and go on with your life, but you wouldn’t stop thinking about them. You wouldn’t be able to live with yourself knowing that you just up and abandoned them and sealed their fate.” 

He heaves a heavy sigh, then sinks into one of the chairs at the table near the patio window. Elbows on his knees, rocking slightly back and forth; eyes riveted on the floor, the fingers of his right hand absentmindedly fidgeting with his wedding band. Attempting to calm himself; to rid himself of the intense anger that has every nerve ending on fire and his chest feeling impossibly tight. 

“Look…” Yaz approached cautiously, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “…I didn’t keep it from you to hurt you, okay? I kept it from you because I needed you to keep your head in the game. I knew once you found out, everything would just go to shit. That you’d be hell bent on getting home. Your kids are safe, Tyler. They’re in good hands. But the McMann kids? They have no one. Just you.” 

“I can’t solve the world’s problems, Yaz. I’m sick of this fucking life. I’m sick of putting my wife through this. I’m sick of putting her and my kids in danger. They deserve better than that. You know they do.” 

“I do. But I also know the McMann kids deserve better than what’s happening to them. Tyler, you’re all they have.” 

“I don’t even know where they are. I’m no closer to finding them now than I was a week ago.” 

“We’re getting closer. We know Heather McMann is involved. If we can find people who know her…if we can break her husband…” 

“He’s out to kill me, Yaz. Or kill my family. He doesn’t want my help. All he cares about now is revenge.” 

“You can break him, Tyler. You know you can. If you set something up…arrange to meet him…let him know everything you know…you can break him. You will break him.” 

“What if he kills me first? Then I’m no good to his kids or mine.” 

“Mark and I will keep an eye on things. And he has people. Here in Ireland. They’ve been watching you for the past week. Keeping an eye on you and Esme. Marines.” 

“A lot of fucking good they did two days ago when I was getting my ass handed to me by four guys and a fucking shovel.” 

“That was…unfortunate…” 

Tyler snorts. “You think?” 

“But we get them involved. We put eyes on you. And a wire. You go and you meet with McMann and you do whatever you have to get information out of him. And if you have to kill him after you get it out of him, I heard nothing, and I saw nothing. You read me?” 

He nods. “Loud and clear.” 

“And we have Esme going tonight to talk that IRA guy. The bartender, so…” 

“No. She’s not going. She changed her mind.” 

“What? She can’t change her mind. This was her idea! It was her idea to do this in the first place and now she’s bailing? What the fuck?” 

“She has her reasons. I’m not letting her go, Yaz. No way.” 

“Just because you’ve got some jealous hang out about her being around other dudes…” 

“That is not it. Trust me. That is not it.” 

“…we need her to do this. This was all her idea. This was her baby. And because she doesn’t want to upset your fragile ego…” 

“Yaz…drop it. She’s not going. I told her she wasn’t, and she agreed with me. I’m not taking the chance that something could happen to her.” 

“Nothing will happen to her. She’ll be wearing a wire. We won’t be far away. We will get there before anything could happen. What the fuck man? I get you two have your issues but…” 

“This isn’t about our issues. This is about me wanting to keep her safe. I can’t have anything happen to her. Especially not now.” 

“Especially not now? What the hell is that supposed to mean? What…?” 

“She’s having a baby,” Tyler confesses, and he watches as the other man’s eyes widen in surprise. 

“She’s pregnant? Esme’s pregnant? 

“We just found out. Yesterday. We don’t even know how far along she is. She took a test…two tests…and they were both positive.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Did you not just hear me? I said she took two tests. Both positive.” 

“Was this intentional? Like were you guys planning on having another one or…” 

“We’ve been trying,” Tyler confirms. “Actively.” 

“Jesus…” Yaz sighs and runs a palm over his mouth. “…I take back what I said. I’m not pissed now that she changed her mind.” 

“I can’t take the chance, mate. I just can’t. Not just with her. But with the baby. And believe me, I’d send her home right now if I knew she’d be safe there. But she’s not. It’s better for her…and the baby…if she stays here with me. Where I can protect her. Protect them.” 

Yaz nods in agreement. “I get it, man. I do. This is big. This is huge. Congrats…” he offers a hand, and Tyler shakes it. “…another Rake, huh? May God have mercy on us all.” 

Tyler smirks. 

“There’s a still a way you know. To get information out of this Billy guy.” 

“How? I’m not sending her in there Yaz. There’s no way. So…” 

“What if you both go in there. Just surprise him.” 

“He’ll know who I am. I’ve been made. So have you. That’s why we had Esme come here to begin with.” 

“It doesn’t matter anymore. Whether this guy knows you or not. He’s not involved. This isn’t the IRA that has these kids. The IRA is pissed right? At McMann? At the Buckmans? They’re pissed and they’re out for blood. So what if you help them. What if you offer your help to get McMann and the Buckmans? What if you worked with them?” 

“Yaz, you’re asking me to team up with a terrorist organization.” 

“You’re not teaming up with them to do terrorist shit though. You’re teaming up with them to get back at McMann. To get the Buckmans. To find those kids. If you go in there and just lay all your cards out on the table, tell this Billy what you’re there for and what you want from them, he’s going to go along with it. The IRA is after McMann and if they even have the slightest inkling about where Heather McMann is…” 

“It could lead me to the kids,” Tyler finishes for him. 

“Exactly! What do you think? Is it worth a shot?” 

Tyler nods. “I think it could work.” 

It has to work.


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: PROFANITY

She’s at the door before he even gets a chance to fully open; hearing the scratch of the key card being inserted and the soft click of the lock giving way. Hair pushed away from her face with a wide fabric head band; eyes wide with a mix of concern and slight panic, face ashen. 

“What happened?” she asks, stepping back to allow him into the small foyer. “I woke up and I saw your note and I started freaking out…”

“I left you the note so you wouldn’t freak out,” he sets the deadbolt, slides the chain into place. “Did anyone call the room? Anyone come to the door?”

“No. No one,” she stands on her tip toes as he leans down to press a chaste kiss to her lips. “What’s going on? Is everything okay? Neither of us are supposed to leave and I woke up and you were gone and I lost it a little bit and…” 

He places a hand on the side of her face and silences her with a kiss; longer this time, his lips soft and tender against her own. Still on her tiptoes, both arms circling his neck. he curls an arm around her waist and pulls her tightly into him. Continuing to hold her long after the kiss comes to an end, the hand that was cradling her face now moving to the back of her head, pressing her face into his chest. He needs this. This moment. A chance to just feel her body against his. To feel the warmth that radiates off her, the way her heart beats against him, the way her fingertips feel as they softly scratch at the nape of his neck. He’s never realized just how much he actually does need this; to not only hold her, but have her hold in in return. It’s comforting. Soothing. And it helps to alleviate that last bit of rage that had been threatening to swallow him whole.

“Tyler…” she’s the first to pull away; tears sparkling in her eyes. “…what’s going on? And don’t say nothing because I know you. I know your expressions. I know the different tones of your voice. I know how your eyes change colour based on your moods. And I know how you get. When something is wrong. I feel it in your arms. The way hold me when you’re upset…it’s different. So different.”

That’s what five and a half years and incredibly strong bond can do. He’d become quite adept on ‘reading’ her as well. Knowing what the different facial expressions mean before she even opens her mouth to speak. Hearing the changes in her voice and her tone. Able to easily decipher her body language. He’d never had that with a woman before. Not even his first wife. In fact, he’d never had that with anyone. A bond so powerful and so all consuming that it can be overwhelming. It’s what happens, he supposes, when two broken people actually do succeed at not only fixing one another, but saving each other.

“You have to promise me that you’ll stay calm,” he says. “I need you to keep calm. Not just for yourself but for the baby. There’s not just you anymore. I need you to stay calm for the both of you.”

“Okay,” she agrees. 

“Promise me.”

“I promise. What’s going on? Because my mom just called and she said that you told her to go back to her place. I mean, she was supposed to be gone two days ago after I told her to get the fuck out, but that’s besides the point. And she said that Ovi and Chloe just took off. With the kids. And Mac. What is going on?”

“What did I just say? About calming down?”

“I am calm. I’m not freaking out. I’m…”

He smirks, then glances down at the tiny fists that have an iron clad grip on the front of his t-shirt.

“Maybe I’m not as calm as I thought,” she relaxes her grip, but the tears that are threatening are raw and bitter and her entire body is trembling. 

“Okay, you need to relax. Just relax…” he rubs his hands down her arms; starting at the shoulders and then moving slowly down to her wrists and then travelling upwards again. “…what has been the number one cause of any of problems you had all the other times you were pregnant?”

“Stress.”

“Exactly. So I really need you not to stress. I need you nice and calm, okay? Because we’re in a foreign country and far from home and your own doctor, so…” he presses a kiss to her brow. “…just relax.”

She rests her forehead against his chest, hands entirely releasing his shirt in favour of finding their place on his hips. Eyes closed as she draws in deep, steady breaths and then lets them slowly and smoothly.

“You need to just listen to everything I say. Can you do that? Can you just stay nice and quiet while I explain everything? I need you to that for me. Esme…” he runs a hand over her hair, then tangles his fingers in some of the tresses and gently pulls her head back, encouraging her to look up at him. “…I need you to listen to me. I need you to hear everything I’m saying. Can you do that? Please?”

She nods. 

“I called Ovi this morning. While you were sleeping. To check on things. And he told me that there’s been some weird stuff going on. People have been calling the house. They’ve been leaving photos in the mailbox. Of the kids. Of you with the kids. Of me and you together.”

Her eyes widen.

“And someone showed up. At the house. Looking for me.”

“But…” she begins, and then stops, biting down on her bottom lip.

“Ovi said they had accents. Like mine, but different. Whoever it was, they were from New Zealand. They were definitely related to the Buckmans in some way. Now I don’t know why they’d go there, because I was made the second I got on the plane in Colorado. They knew I was here. Or at least they’d heard I was here. There’s only two reasons why they would show up at the house. One is to make sure that I found out and would go running back as soon as I did, just leaving them to do whatever the hell they want here to the McMann kids. The second is to make sure that I was really gone. That I wasn’t anywhere nearby when they came after our kids. Because that’s what they’ll do. They’ll go for the kids. Out of revenge. They won’t come after me personally. They’ll go after what they know will make me vulnerable.”

Her teeth are digging hard enough into her lip to nearly draw blood. Her chest heaving as she struggles to breathe through the flood of emotions threatening to surge through her. Her entire body trembling.

“Listen to me…” he implores, and once more takes her face in her hands. “…settle down…it’s okay…just breathe, baby. Just breathe. Everything is under control, I promise. You remember what I told you? About the money that I hid in the garage? And the weapons?”

She nods.

“I told Ovi to take the money and the guns. I told him to pack up the kids and Chloe and take off. And not to contact me until he got somewhere safe. I told him to ditch his old phone and get a new one, just in case the old one has a trace on it. The kids are safe with him. You know they are. He’s one of the few people I actually do trust with you and your kids, you know that. Everything is going to be okay. He’s going to get them somewhere safe and he’ll let us know when he does. You have to trust him, Esme. And you have to trust me. You have to trust that I made the decisions I did to keep them safe.”

“I do. I do trust him. And I do trust you. With my life. With our kids lives.”

“It’s going to be okay. I found out about this before anything bad actually happened. I had time to make things right. I had time to protect them. This could have been so much worse. Are you okay? You took that a lot better than I thought you would. I thought for sure you might snap on me and punch me in the face. Or knee me in the balls. Normally you’d freak out on me regardless of what I said.”

“I’m…I don’t know…I think…I think I’m going to be sick.”

She rushes for the washroom and he follows dutifully…albeit reluctantly…behind. It’s his weakness; the one thing that makes him physically ill. Not even the actual act of throwing up itself; but the sound. It doesn’t matter if it’s her or one of the kids; he mentally can not cope with it. But at the same time, he knows she needs him. That it’s partly his fault that she’s like this in the first place: kneeling in front of the toilet, vomiting profusely and violently. So he briefly lingers in the doorway, taking a few seconds to prepare himself before actually rendering aide.

He turns the cold water on in the sink. Both to effectively block out the retching noises and to soak one of the hotel facecloths; tightly ringing it out and then filling one of the glasses that sit on the counter top. It’s given her enough time to actually finishing throwing up; and he breathes an internal sigh of relief and turns off the top before joining her where she sits with her cheek pressed against the cold seat, eyes closed and tears streaming down her face. 

“It’s okay,” his voice is calm and soothing as he crouches down beside her; ignoring the cracking of his knees and the discomfort that accompanies it. He’s not sure what’s actually caused her to be ill; if it’s everything he’d just dropped onto her plate or actual morning sickness. Or even a mixture of both. She’s suffered through every one of her pregnancies; horrific bouts of all day sickness, never mind just in the morning. To the point she’s initially lost weight instead of gaining it and had to be hospitalized for dehydration. Which is definitely not what she needs while being in a foreign country so far from him. “Neck or forehead?” he asks, and she cracks on eye open as he holds the facecloth where she see it.

“Forehead,” she whimpers, and he pushes her hand away when she attempts to take the cloth from him.

“I got it,” he says, as he presses the damp, cool fabric to her brow. “I got you.”

She manages a smile.

“You okay now? Got it all out?”

“I think so. I really hate you right now, thought. Just saying.”

“I told you why I did what I did. That I told Ovi to take off and…”

“Not that,” she gives a small laugh. “I mean this. The reason I’m puking in the first place. You may have really strong and ridiculously good looking genes, but there’s something in them that totally fucks with my system. It’s not enough that all the kids we make have to look and act exactly like you? But I also have to suffer like this first? Like, where’s the humanity?”

“Well, at the risk of you punching me in the face for saying it, I’m not the only one to blame for this.”

“I don’t even get how it happened in the first place. It had to have happened before we actually agreed to have another one. And you were using condoms. We were being careful.”

“I guess not careful enough.”

“You probably intentionally sabotaged them. You’re probably one of those guys that pokes holes in them on purpose.”

“Yep,” he grins, and presses the facecloth against each of her cheeks. “That’s totally what I did.”

She glares at him. “Tell me you’re joking, Tyler James or I will punch you in the face.”

“Of course I’m joking. I’d never do something like that and you know it,” he presses a kiss to her temple, pushes sweaty strands of her behind her ears. “I may have forgotten to wear one a couple of times, but…”

“Oh, shades of Dhaka. How cute. Because you didn’t learn your lesson the first time, right?”

“There wasn’t a lesson to learn. We did what we did, you got pregnant, we ended up having a beautiful little girl. End of story.”

“I still remember when she was born. How you cried. When the nurse gave her to you. You had the most amazing, content, peaceful smile on your face and these tears were streaming down. And you were looking down at her and it…” she finds herself getting emotional at the memory. “…you’d never looked so beautiful as you did right then.”

“Normally I’d get pissed that you’d call me that, but I’ll let you have it. Just this once,” he teases, rubbing her back comfortingly as she pushes herself up into a sit and then shuffles backwards in order to lean back against the wall of the of the tub. “Here…” he offers the glass of water, then tosses the facecloth into the tub and joins her; sitting alongside of her, stretching his legs out and wrapping his arm around her shoulders.

“That’s your bad arm,” she scolds. 

“It’s fine. Hardly any pain. Well, besides what’s always there. Stop giving me a hard time. I’m trying here.”

“You’re a massive study in contradiction, you know,” she says, as she turns her body sideways and drapes both of her legs over his thighs. “People see this absurdly tall, crazy muscular, intimidating guy and immediately assume that you’re that way all the time. That you’re always aggressive and assertive. Maybe even scary. And you’re not. You’re not like that at all. I mean, you are when you have to be. But you’re so different when it’s just us. Or when you’re with your kids.’

“What I’m supposed to be like when I’m with you?” he grins, and drops a kiss on the top of her head. “Or with the kids? Am I supposed be that guy that kicks ass and impales people with garden rakes? Or would you rather me like this?”

“Definitely like this,” she smiles, and sips her water. “Although I have to admit, I’m almost embarrassed to admit that the other Tyler turns me on too. The savage one. The one that is capable of doing things like that. That is bad ass and brutal and would do anything to protect me and his kids. There’s something oddly sexy about that. When I think about some of the things you’ve done to people, I don’t know. It actually makes me wet.”

“Jesus Christ,” he chuckles. “You get weirder and weirder with each passing day, I swear.”

“But here you are. Still hanging in there. Despite the fact I’m a raging bitch some of the times and I haven’t actually been the model wife over the past five and a half years.”

“We’ve both fucked up. We’ve been said some things and done some things were pretty shitty. But that doesn’t mean we don’t love each other. If you think about how badly things went the first time either of us were married, we’ve had a lot of shit to get past. And we did it. Together. Neither of us walked away even when things got really bad. You could have easily told me to fuck off for good when we separated. And I wouldn’t have blamed you if you did. You even could have taken off with the kids and I would have deserved it.”

He’d been a wreck. It had been entirely his fault; he’d pushed her too hard when it came to choosing the job over her and the kids. He’d kept testing her limits time and time again and eventually she’d just snapped. And it would have been so easy to blame her, to make her out to be the best person. Paint her as the unsupportive, nagging, overbearing and demanding wife. But he hadn’t. He’d fucked up and he’d known it and owned it. And he had taken the punishment for it. Living for six months in a shit hole of a motel; throwing himself into the most dangerous jobs as possible and drowning the guilt and the pain in alcohol. And when she’d called him that night, he’d honestly been expecting the worst: that she needed an address to send divorce papers to. 

“I never would have done that to you,” she says. “Taken your kids from you. I would never have kept them from you. Because even when you were a shitty husband, you were always an amazing father. Just because you didn’t love me, didn’t me you didn’t love them. I’ve never doubted that.”

“I’ve always loved you. I may not have always acted like it, but I did. I don’t think the problem is that we stopped loving each other.”

“It’s that we love each other too much sometimes,” she says, and then frowns. “Which is strange to say when you think about it. Is it even possible to love someone too much? Maybe if you blindly love someone and put them on some kind of pedestal and than you’re completely heartbroken when they don’t live up to your expectations. But that doesn’t sound like us. At least not to me, anyway. I mean, I always knew you were an asshole. So it didn’t surprise me when you started acting like one.”

“When I started acting like one? I was an asshole when we first met.”

“You were fine when I met you and bathroom chicken. But you turned into an asshole when you tried to choke me out after that first fight we had in Dhaka.”

“For the record, I didn’t try and choke you out. I wasn’t trying to kill you.”

“You were trying to get in my pants?”

“Well not at first. At first you just pissed me off. To the point I wanted to choke you out.”

“And then it became the kinky kind of choking me out.”

“Yeah…” he chuckles. “…I guess it did.”

“We are so fucked up,” she giggles. “I mean, at least we can admit it, right? That we are two very seriously messed up people.”

“Maybe that’s what makes us perfect for each other,” he reasons. “Maybe because we can admit it and we can accept it. We know we’re not perfect. We don’t expect each other to be perfect. But we keep working on things. Even when people think we should just give up and walk away.”

She frowns. “You’ve been talking to my mother, haven’t you.”

“Believe it or not, she’s not the only person who thinks I’m not good enough for you.”

“No. She’s not. You’ve spent five and a half years thinking that about yourself.”

He nods in agreement.

“And you don’t think I’ve felt that same way? That you deserve better than me? I’ve thought that tons of times. That you’d be better off without me. That it would be healthier for you if you just walked away and never looked back.”

“I never would,” he says. “Walk away.”

“You realize that can be either a blessing or a curse, right?”

“Yup,” he rubs at her thigh, presses a kiss to her forehead. “But I like to think it’s more of a blessing. Because I kind of like the way my life is now. With you. With my kids. With…” he places a palm against her stomach. “…the little bean.”

She smiles. It’s their ‘thing’; he’d come up with the nickname ‘little bean’ when she’d shown him Millie’s first ultrasound picture. He’d still be laid up in the hospital; recovering from knee replacement surgery and still struggling to regain a healthy chunk of his strength and stamina. It had killed him not to be there with her; at her side when she to see the baby…his baby….for the first time. And when she’d shown him that picture…pointing out where the technician had seen the umbilical cord, the heart, even the spine…all he’d seen was a bean. The nickname had stuck; being passed down to each of their unborn children. 

“Please tell me everything is going to be okay, Tyler. Even if it’s not. Just tell me it will.”

“You mean with the baby or…”

“Everything. With everything that’s going on. Just say it’s going to be okay. Even if you don’t believe it. Even if everything is telling you that this is all going to go horribly wrong. I need you to hear you say it. That it’s going to be okay.”

“It is going to be okay. I’m not just saying it because it’s what you want to hear. I’m saying it because it’s true. The kids are safe where they are. With Ovi and Chloe. And you’re safe here with me. Everything’s going to be fine, Esme. I promise.”

She gives a sigh; it’s content, satisfied. At least for now. And she nestles her face into his neck; the tip of her nose and her soft breath tickling his skin.

“But there is something I need you to do for me,” he says. “Well not for me. With me.”

“Oh god…Tyler…what now…I love you, but what do you want now?”

“I know you said you were going to call that Billy guy. The bartender. And completely back out on getting together with him. I don’t want you to do that. I want you to still go.”

“We just talked about this, Tyler. You were the one who didn’t want me to. Because of the baby. You were worried that something would happen. To both of us.”

“I am worried about that. Which is why you wouldn’t be going alone. I’d be going with you.”

She pulls back look at him, eyes narrowed, brow furrowed. “How would that even work? I came here because you’d been made and you needed me to and meet with these people and get info. I wouldn’t have come here if you were able to do it yourself. So why…”

“Do you trust me?”

“Of course I trust you. This isn’t about trusting you or not trusting you.”

“We’re going to walk in there and I’m going to tell them exactly who I am…who we are…and ask him for his help. A business proposition. I’m going to give him a chance to help us bring McMann down. It’s what the IRA wants, right? Revenge? And McMann has information we need. That will lead us to his wife and his kids. We need to find those kids, Esme. I need to get them out of there.”

“And you think this the only way to do it? To trust the IRA? Tyler, that sounds a little…insane.”

“They hate him just as much as we do, if not more. And he’s far more scared of them than he is of me. So why not sic the IRA on him in order to get what we want? They have ways of getting the information we need. We won’t even have to get our hands dirty. They can get more out of him than we can. So let them do it. Let them get what we need.’

“In exchange for letting them do whatever they want to him?”

He nods.

“That’s risky, Tyler. What stops them for coming back after you?”

“I’ve done nothing to piss them off. But the McMann has. And so have the Buckmans. What if I get the kids out and let the IRA take down the Buckmans? What if that’s the deal? What if all I want is information on where those kids are and I give them both McMann and the Buckmans in exchange. They won’t turn that down. And it keeps me out of their shit. I do not want to be going toe to toe with the IRA. And I know you don’t want me doing that, either.”

“This is risky and you know it.”

“The job is always risky. But this the cleanest way we can go about saving both the McMann kids and our kids.”

“You think the IRA will take it?”

“Why wouldn’t they? They want revenge, right? On McMann and the Buckmans? I have nothing on the IRA. I’ve never pissed them off or stepped on their toes. I’m just the guy that McMann was trying to use to stir up some shit. They don’t care about me. But I can give them what they want.”

“What can they give you? Other than the McMann kids?”

“Protection. For our kids. If the Buckmans can get to Colorado, so can the IRA. If I give them what they want, they give me what I want. They won’t turn that down. McMann is too big of a prize. The Buckmans are just extra incentive.”

“Are you sure about this? Like are you one hundred percent sure? Because I’ll go along with it if you are. If you can look me in the eye and tell me that this is how you want to do things. That this is going to work.”

He lays one hand on the back of her head, the other on the side of her face, locking eyes with her. “This is how I want to do things. And it’s going to work. I know it’s going to work.”

“Okay,” she says with a sigh. “I’ll do it. I’ll help you. But I swear to God, Tyler Rake, you can’t ask me for any more favours for at least eight months. Until this baby finishes baking and it comes out safe and sound. Because I’m not risking anything happening to little bean. Not even for you. Deal?”

“Deal,” he agrees, and seals it with a kiss.

****

“You realize this insane, right?” Mark inquires, prior to the start of the impromptu team meeting Yaz had called for. With only two hours remaining before the meeting with William Flynn, there were things that needed to be ironed out:. Someone needed to go into the pub and place hidden cameras in the back room, a sure fire escape plan and route needed to drawn out just in case things didn't go exactly as planned, there needed to be back up stationed somewhere outside. It isn't as simple as just sending someone in to get information. Every possible scenario...good and bad...had to be plotted out and considered, along with ways to solve any problems that might crop up. “This is never going to work.”

“Could you just once try and be optimistic?” Esme counters, as she pours herself a cup of tea out of the carafe that sits in the middle of the conference table. The hotel has been good to all of them during their stay; always offering up one of their rooms for their 'business meetings', providing them with food and drink. Whatever the size of the donation Nik had given them at the start of things, it had ensured both their hospitality and their silence. 

“Could you for once not just look at the bright side of things?” he shoots back, as he prepares a coffee for himself. “That was always one of your weaknesses. Being overly optimistic.”

“Well I'm sorry Mister Negative, if I can't always live under a dark cloud like you can. Do you have a list of these weaknesses written down somewhere? Did you take notes? You know, so you could eventually throw them all in my face?”

“This is exactly why it didn't work. Why we didn't work,” he says. “You have to always get one up on someone. There always has to be some smart ass comment. You can never just stay quiet.”

“And here I was thinking that things didn't work because you're a gas lighting, manipulative asshole who couldn't keep his dick in his pants. But go on, Mark. Tell me all about how I'm the only one to blame for things disintegrating between us.”

“You know, maybe if you'd been more devoted to keeping things together...to being more wife like...I wouldn't have had to resort to the things I did. A man has needs you know. And you weren't always willing to fill those.”

“Oh so now it's the lack of sex that was the problem. That's what caused all of our issues. That's what turned you into a giant narcissistic dick bag. Do you ever just sit back and listen to the shit that comes out of your mouth? You should really record yourself one of these days. So you can go back and listen to the crap that you spew.”

“I admit, I had my issues.”

“”You think?” she scoffs. “You let a stewardess give you a blow job on the flight home from our honeymoon. Do you really think that could have been one of our issues?”

“But you weren't one hundred percent innocent. I know you like to play the victim. You want everyone to think that I was the bad guy and...”

“You were the bad guy. I didn't deserve any of the things you did to me and you know. You don't need me to make you look horrible because you are horrible. You're a shitty human being, Mark. And you were an even shittier husband. I wasn't the perfect wife. But I didn't deserve what you did. I didn't deserve any of it. You can spend the rest of your life lying to yourself that you weren't the one that caused all the issues, but it will never change the fact that you did. Get the fuck over yourself. You're not as charming and handsome as you think you are. Get a grip.”

“Who are you going to blame when things fall apart between you and Tyler?” he challenges. “Because they will. Fall apart. And it's going to be even worse than when things fell apart between us. Because now there's four perfectly innocent little kids involved in your bullshit and...”

“Five,” she interjects, and helps herself to a slice of pineapple from the fresh fruit tray in the middle of the table. “There's five. Well, four and a half if you want to get technical about things.”

Mark's eyes narrow. “You have got to be fucking kidding me. Is that all the two of you do? Fuck and make kids? Is that what your whole marriage exists of?”

“Well unlike when I was married to you, I actually like fucking the husband I have now. That and he actually knows how to give orgasms and doesn't just expect them. He also knows what the g spot is and where it is. You could always ask for pointers. I'm sure he'd be willing to teach you a few things. You know, so you're not an epic failure when it comes to pleasing your next wife.”

“Next wife? You ruined the entire marriage experience. You ruined other women for me. And not in a good way, just so you know.”

“Am I supposed to be offended by that? Mark, I don't lose any sleep at night over your opinion of me. I have a clear conscience. You know, I thought after nine years apart, you wouldn't be such a massive dick. You were showing so much promise. You came looking for absolution, you actually apologized for your shit, you gave me your help when you asked for it. You even showed up here. Which isn't exactly what I wanted when I asked you for help, but it is what it is. You start out good and then you just shit the bed and prove you're still the same fuck nut you were when things went to shit between us.”

“And you call me manipulative? He has no clue how badly you're manipulating him. How you've actually trapped him into staying. He has no fucking idea just how trapped he actually is.”

“Jesus Christ, Mark. You're a real piece of work. How can you even stand the sound of your own voice? Are you honestly that upset that I moved on with my life? You should be happy for me. That I could even stand another man touching me after some of the shit you pulled. Why can't you just be happy for me? Why can't you just admit you messed up and that you're glad I could get over it and move on with my life. And I haven't trapped him. He's free to go if he wants to, and he knows it.”

'Like he's going to leave his kids behind,” Mark gives a derisive snort. “There's no way he'd take off and leave his kids. So you just keep giving him more and more, guaranteeing he won't leave. That's actually pretty smart, you know. I'll give you credit. That's pretty goddamn devious. You're like some evil genius.”

“Yes, that's my dastardly plan. You figured it out. I just keep letting him come inside of me and knocking me up so that he'll stick around. You figured it out, Mark.”

“It won't work, you know. The two of you. Not in the long run. Because he's going to wake up one day and realize just how fucked he is and how well you played him and then it's all going to blow up in your face. And he is going to take off and you know what's going to happen when he does? He's going to take those kids from you and there won't be any way to stop it. He'll leave and he'll take the kids with him and you'll be alone. Again. And it will be all your fault.”

“Mark, you are about five seconds away from me punching you in the face. Do you know how humiliating that would be? To be punched in the face by a woman? And not just any woman. A pregnant woman? So I think you should stop while you're ahead. Because the people in this room? They will wreck you. There's nothing Tyler wants more than to beat your ass into the middle of next week. And it won't take much for me to convince him to do it. So keep pressing your luck. He's kind of in a mood and he wouldn't mind taking it out on you.”  
He glances across the room; to where Tyler and Yaz are immersed in an intense conversation. Tyler has a good five inches on him; and at least twenty to thirty pound of sheer muscle and power. “I could take him.”

Esme can't help but laugh. “Sure. Sure you could. Why don't you go over there and try? I'd love to see you try. Do you realize the things he can do to people with his bare hands? He could kill you with one of the coffee cups. But by all means, if you think you stand a chance, go ahead. Start some shit. I'd love to see it.”

“I don't think I will.”

“Oh of course not. Because you know you'd be demolished.”

“Nik wouldn't approve. If I beat the shit out of her favourite toy.”

“Okay, now you are really starting to piss me off.”

“Burns your ass, doesn't it? The fact he was fucking her before he was fucking you? I'll give him credit; he's got great taste. First her, now you. He knows how to choose A plus ass, that's for sure.”

“First off, Tyler and Nik happened long before I ever came along. Second, you're a disgusting piece of shit for even talking about her like that. Nik and I don't always see eye to eye and we've had our issues, but she's still my friend. And she deserves better than you talking about her like that. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“She's on her way here, you know.”

“Nik?” Esme arches an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Well, two reasons, actually. The first is, she's pissed. With the little stunt Tyler pulled this morning. Sending the Indian kid away with your bunch.”

“His name isn't 'Indian kid'. His name is Ovi. And you'll call him by his name or you will get a punch in the throat. Even when he was fourteen he was a bigger man than you are now. You would have been crying like a little bitch if you went through what he did.”

“And second, she's coming to see me.”

“Why the hell would anyone come all that way to see you. That's a waste of perfectly good air miles.”

“Because unlike you, she knows a good thing when she has it.”

“Oh my God,” she laughs. “Are you serious right now? You? And Nik?”

“We kind of have a 'thing' going on.”

“You just met. And you haven't even seen each other in person. How can you have a 'thing'?”

“That's the beauty of technology. We can see each other even if it's not in person. And you're the last person who should be saying anything about people 'just meeting'. You were fucking Tyler three days after you met him. When you were supposed to be working. I know all your dirty little secrets, Esme. I know how the two of you shacked up in that hotel in Dhaka together and couldn't stop fucking each other while on the job. And I know he ended up getting you pregnant and that's the only reason he asked you to marry him in the first place.”

Her eyes narrow. “That is not why he asked. You have no clue what you're talking about.”

“You're so naive. You really think there was another reason behind why he asked? I'll hand it to him. He stepped up and took responsibility. He could have easily just told you to fuck off and get out of his life. But he actually asked you to marry him. That's pretty huge. That he'd be willing to take a risk like that, not even knowing if the kid was his for sure. I mean, if you were that willing to fuck him after just meeting him, he probably thought there would be tons of other guys you were fucking too.”

“There is something wrong with you, Mark. There is something very seriously wrong with you. You have no idea why Tyler made the decisions he did. I gave him an option. I told him that if he didn't want to be part of things that I'd leave and I'd never bother him again. That I didn't even expect child support out of him. So...”

“Did you really think he'd go along with that? Come on, Esme. You're smarter than that. You knew he'd stick around. You knew he wasn't going anywhere. He already lost one brat, he wasn't going to take the chance of losing another.”

“His name was Austin, you sick fuck. And he was six years old and he had cancer. How dare you talk about a child like that?A dead child. What is wrong with you?”

“Save your outrage for someone who gives a shit, Esme. You really didn't think he'd let you leave, did you? That he'd let you just walk away and take his baby with you? You knew he wouldn't. You knew he'd want you to stick around. And it was just a bonus when he asked you to marry him. And now look. Five and a half years later, four kids, another one on the way. Congratulations on that, by the way. You can be a shit human being, but you're a good mother. I'll give you that much.”

She opens her mouth to speak, then clamps it shut when the door to the conference room opens and three newcomers step in. Two males, one female. Fairly young; mid to late twenties at the older. And Mark greets them warmly; handshakes and one armed hugs.

“These are the Marines you asked for,” he address Esme. “When you wanted my help and asked if I knew anyone around these parts that I could get to watch things. These are three of the best I've ever had work under me. I knew right away they were the ones I wanted on the job. We've got Zak, Nathan, and Tanis. Lieutenant, Staff Sargent, Gunnery Sargent. Respectfully.”

“You were in the elevator that night,” Esme says. “The night I got here. You were pretending to be newlyweds and you were the third wheel.”

“We followed you guys from the airport,” Zak reveals. “We weren't taking any chances. So we hung back and just let on we were normal people.”

“And was it the two of you...” she looks at Tanis and Nathan. “...that were outside of our room? I heard you talking. I tried to follow you but...”

“They've been staying right under your nose,” Mark says. “Right down the hall. In that room the housekeeper convinced you was empty. Yeah, she's on my payroll too. What? You think Nik is the only one that has people she can call to get shit done? It's a booming business, Esme. Lots of pieces of the pie to go around.”

“Since when does the FBI get into the mercenary business?” she inquires. “I thought the Feds were more interested in stopping mercenaries than helping them.”

“We're not technically mercenaries, ma'am,” Nathan replies. “But we know a good payout when we see one. You're a former Gunny. You know the corps pays shit. Have to pay the bills somehow, right?”

“And this is just my side gig,” Mark speaks up. “This is strictly off the books. A little something to keep me busy when I get bored. And these fellas have a score to settle with McMann themselves, so...”

“Killed a buddy of ours,” Zak reveals. “Former corpsman we served with. That went into the business. Killed him during an extra in Guatemala.”

Esme frowns. “Guatemala? Almost three weeks ago? My husband was working on an extraction in Guatemala. What the hell is going on here? McMann said he was there to watch Tyler. To watch him before asking him for help.”

“He wasn't there to watch Tyler,” Mark says. “He was there to kill Tyler.”

“Our buddy was providing tactical support,” Nathan explains. “He worked for Nik. That's who your husband works for, right? Nik Khan?”

She nods.

“He'd only been on the job for a few weeks,” Zak adds. “He was super stoked about it, too. Everyone knows who Tyler Rake is. The guy is a fucking legend. What with the Dhaka job and all that. I mean, you pretty much cement yourself as a fucking king when you can survive that.”

“He's the whole reason Quinn went into the business to begin with,” Nathan says. “To work with the man. All but had to beg Nik to give him a chance. He was over the fucking moon when she took him on and sent him into Guatemala. It was his first big gig. First extraction. And when McMann tipped his hand, Quinn found out about what he was up to and he went after him. To stop him. Which he did. But...”

“Jesus Christ.” Esme mutters, and lays a hand on her stomach; feeling nauseous. 

“McMann never wanted Tyler's help,” Mark tells her. “This was all a set up from the very beginning. Both him and his wife are in on it. But the kids are missing. That part is true. But McMann brought Tyler here to kill him. Because he failed the first time. And he knew that Tyler would take the bait. What other way to get him to cooperate? A guy that has four kids of his own? He knew if he brought children into this, Tyler wouldn't say no. So now, here we are. Caught up in one big shitty fucking mess.”

“But the kids are still missing,” Esme concludes. “They still need his help. Tyler's help.”

“He's the only one that can help them,” Mark says. “And hopefully we can work together to keep him from dying in the process.”


	39. Chapter 39

“I want you to tell me everything. About what happened in Guatemala.”

It's an hour before their meeting with William Flynn, and everything's been arranged; Yaz sending the three Marines into the bar under the guise as health board officials, complete with fake credentials and complaints from customers that never existed. They'd been able to successfully install hidden cameras and microphones through out the room, which Yaz would monitor from a command post he'd created in an empty office building across the street. Mark and his 'people' would remain outside; blending in with the Belfast crowd, listening through the wires for any signs of trouble, and had been instructed not to enter the pub unless ordered to. 

“I already told you everything there was to know,” Tyler says, as he shrugs into an olive green button down; short sleeve, casual, a look that will fit in with the pub crowd. “When I got home.”

“You said there were problems. What kind of problems?” she inquires, as she steps into a simple sundress; cotton, cream coloured, patterned by orange, yellow, and red flowers. 

“Mostly stuff with comms. We kept losing the signal. Yaz said it was satellite problems. Then there was a screw up when it came to the extraction point,” he explains, as he buttons his shirt and tucks it into the waist of his khaki pants; tending to the button and zipper, then his belt. “Why?”

“There were satellite issues two days ago,” she points out as she stands in front of him, presenting her back to him in a silent request to zip her up. “Yaz said whoever figured out we were there jammed the signal. So he couldn't communicate with us. And vice versa. Maybe that's what happened in Guatemala too.”

“Or it could be that I stuck in the middle of nowhere and the signal was just shit,” he reasons, the tips of his fingers grazing against her spine as he tugs the zipper to the top of the dress, then sets the clasp in place. 

“That would be too much of a coincidence, don't you think? Aren't you always the one that says there is no such thing as coincidences? That everything is connected in some way?”

“Well that's a first. You actually listening to, and remembering, something I've said,” he teases, his hands resting on her hips as he presses a series of feathery kisses from one shoulder to the other, then to the nape of her neck. “What's this about anyway? You usually don't ask about these things. You normally don't like me to talk about the job.”

“Who was Quinn?” she asks, and she feels his hands tighten on her hips; fingers biting through the fabric and into her flesh.

“How do you even know that name?”

“The three Marines from today. The ones that Mark brought in to help. They were friends of his. This Quinn. They told me that Nik had hired him and Guatemala was his first real job. That he'd been super stoked about working with you.”

“He wasn't working with me. He was there for tactical support. Like G used to do. He was watching the building that I had to go into to get my extract. Keeping an eye on things. Watching my back.”

“And did he? Watch your back?”

“I came home didn't I? I'm alive, yeah?”

“You didn't tell me that you lost someone,” she says, as she steps away, then rummages through one of her bags in a search for a pair of shoes to match her outfit. “That you lost a teammate.”

“Why would I? You don't like when I bring the job home. You asked a few questions, I gave you the answers. We left it at that. I didn't see a reason to tell you about him. What's this about? Why do you even know these things? How do you even know them? I've spent four years since getting back into the job trying not to burden you with this shit.”

“How did he die?”

“Who?”

“Quinn.”

“A sniper got him. We were supposed to meet up. Behind the building where my extract was. I radioed him to tell him that I was in possession and making my way outside and he said he was on his way. He was about two hundred yards out. It would have only taken him a couple minutes to get to me. And when he didn't show up...” he shrugs. “...I figured someone had cut him down.”

“Did you hear the shot?”

“I heard something. I don't know if it was the shot that got him. And I couldn't leave my extract alone to go and check things out and I couldn't drag her out there with me to check on him. So...”

“So you don't know if it was a sniper.”

“Well, no,” Tyler admits. “But it's what I was told.”

“By who?”

“I don't know. Whoever the new guy is that's in charge of surveillance. I don't know all their names. I'm not there to make friends. I'm just there to get in and out and get paid for it. What's going on? Why are you asking me about all of this?”

“Michael McMann wasn't in Guatemala to watch you, Tyler. He was there to kill you.”

He frowns. “What? What are you talking about? Who told you that?”

“Somewhere down the line, you've had dealings with him before. That you don't remember. Or maybe you didn't ever come face to face with him. But something went down between the two of you. Something big. Something that he wants revenge for. And I need you to think. Long and hard. I need you to remember. Anything big or small. That might join the two of you together.”

“I already told you, I haven't had any dealings with him or the IRA. None. Whatsoever. I'd remember dealing with them.”

“Maybe it had nothing to do with the IRA,” she suggests. “Maybe it's something that's happened within the last few years since he left them. He's just been a mercenary right? Since cutting ties with them? Can you think of any jobs you took that you came in contact with him?”

“I have never...ever...seen him before. When he showed up in Telluride, that was the first time I'd ever seen him. I'd remember, Esme. I'd remember if I'd met him before. Brain injured, not brain dead, remember.”

“I'm not trying to say you're brain dead,” she hurries after him as he journeys into the bathroom, where he snags his watch off the vanity and wraps it around his wrist. “I'm just saying maybe the meeting was so brief that you honestly don't remember. I've run into tons of people that know me but I don't remember ever meeting. If it seemed unimportant at the time, you'd have no reason to hang onto it, right?”

“I'd remember him. He's kind of hard to forget. All the tattoos and shit.”

“There has to be something, Tyler,” she says, as she turns his hand palm up and tends to the watch band and clasp. “There has to be reason why he'd want to kill you.”

“Who even told you that? And why would they even tell you that?”

“Quinn knew. That McMann was there kill you.”

“How? I didn't even know McMann was watching me.”

“That's exactly the point. You weren't supposed to know. He was going to kill you and Quinn found out and stopped him. I don't know how he found out, I just know that he did. And when McMann couldn't finish the job in Guatemala, he decided to follow you back to the states.”

“Where are you getting all of this? Who told you all of this?”

“Mark.”

Tyler gives a small snort and a roll of his eyes and leaves the room.

She scurries after him once more. “He isn't just an FBI agent. He's in the game too. He's got his own team. The three marines you met today are part of it. They're not mercenaries, per say. They aren't as heavily into it as you are. But he sends them places and pays them to do it. And this Quinn was their friend and they want revenge too. Against McMann. Which is why they were so willing to come here.”

“Mark is just talking a whole lot of shit, Esme. That's what he does. He talks shit. He likes the sound of his own voice. Why would you even listen to a word he says? This doesn't make any sense.”

“None of this makes any sense. Tyler. It hasn't made sense from the very beginning. Since McMann showed up in Telluride and asked for your help. You said it yourself that something was 'off'; right from the get go. That you got a weird vibe from him. And your instincts are never wrong. Ever. Not in the five and a half years that I've known you.”

“Well you're under the impression my brain is completely fucked up, so why wouldn't my instincts be fucked too?”

“That is not what I said at all. I don't think your brain is completely fucked up. There's some issues, yes. But those were issues we knew could come about. The doctor warned us about them and yes it sucks and I fucking hate that this is happening to you, but you've always trusted your instincts. I've always trusted them. And I trust them now. One hundred percent.”

“Yeah? Well maybe it's time you stop having so much faith and trust in me.”

“Tyler, don't do this. I need you to listen to me. I need you to hear what I'm saying and I need you to tell me what happened in Guatemala. Not what you think I want to hear.”

“I already told you everything. There's nothing else to tell you. A politician's wife got kidnapped, he contacted Nik, and she sent me to get her. It was an easy job. In and out.”

“Until it wasn't easy anymore. Until everything started fucking up.”

“Things always fuck up. Would it really be the job if things didn't? You know there's always room for things to go wrong. Nothing ever goes smoothly. There's always problems of some kind.”

“But think about, Tyler. The comms got screwed up in Guatemala and two days ago at McMann's house? And he's involved both times? There's no coincidences. This is all connected and you know it. You said you didn't know McMann before. That you'd never come in contact with him previously. But that doesn't mean he doesn't know someone that you pissed off. Someone that hired him to go after you.”

“That would be a long fucking list, babe. I've pissed off a lot of people.”

“But you can find out, right? From McMann? When you confront him? When you hand him over to the IRA? You won't have anything to lose by getting that out of him. Don't you want to know? Who is after you?”

“Esme...” he sighs, then reaches out to tend to the twists in the straps of her dress. “...there's probably a lot of people after me. They just don't ever make a move.”

“But this person is making a move. This person isn't just threatening to kill you, but they're threatening our kids. And that's a line you say that no one should ever cross. Bringing children into it. You had to send them away. With Ovi and Chloe. We don't even know where they are. We don't even know if they're okay. Those are our kids, Tyler. Our babies. And...” she draws in a sharp intake of breath, tears building in her eyes. “...and we don't even know where they are and if they're even alive.”

“Hey...hey...don't do that...” he takes her face in his hands, places a kiss to her forehead. “....Esme, they're fine. The kids are fine.”

“You don't know that. You don't know that for sure. You haven't talked to Ovi since this morning. What if they didn't get away? What if someone got a hold of them? What if...?”

“Stop. Just stop. They're fine. They're with Ovi and Chloe and they're fine. He will get a hold of me when he feels it's the right time. You have to trust him. There's nothing he wouldn't do for them, and you know that. He'd iie trying to protect them. Without hesitation.”

“I don't want it coming to that. Because I love that kid. I love him like he's my own and...”

“He is one of our own. He has been for five and a half years now. But you have to trust him. Trust that he's doing what he has to do to keep them safe. They're his family. He'll call. When it's safe enough to call. You just need to trust him. Okay? Can you do that? For me?”

“I need to know they're okay, Tyler. I need to know that they're safe and sound and nothing's happened to them.”

“And you will. When Ovi calls. It's going to take time, babe. For him to feel they are one hundred percent safe and get settled. I'm freaking out too. We're in this together. They're just as much my kids as they are yours. And they're fine. I know they're fine.”

“McMann was involved,” she remains steadfast. “He's been involved since the beginning. He wasn't in Guatemala to watch you. He was there to kill you. And I know it's true. He's a complete fucking dick head in a lot of ways and he was a shitty husband, but Mark would not lie about something like that. And those Marines would not lie about their buddy laying down his life to save you. They just wouldn't. And he didn't show up in Colorado looking for your help, he was looking for a way to get to you. To make you vulnerable. To finish the job.”

“Esme...you don't know that...”

“I do know it!” she insists. “And he's using his kids to get to you. Because he knows that's your weakness. You're a dad. He knew that he could get you here if he used his kids as bait. But he didn't expect you to be as smart as you are. To catch on to him. He knew he was fucked as soon as you brought me here and then Mark showed up. He knew he needed to step things up and make things as twisted and complicated as possible. And he never got the chance to get to you until two days ago. At the house.”

“How'd he know we were there? He was with Mark. How'd he know we would go to the house?”

“I don't know. But it was him, Tyler, and I know it was him. And I think you know it too. And now he's really out for blood because you didn't just manage to get away once, but twice. And on top of that, you completely fucked up his guys and you figured out that Heather is in on everything. He wants you dead and he isn't going to stop until it happens. And if that means he has go through me and the kids first...”

“Okay..calm down...just calm down...” he lays his hands on her shoulders, squeezing tightly before running his palms down her arms. “...you need to calm down...not just for you, but little bean. The last thing I need is something happening to you...to both of you...and we are thousands of miles away from home and a doctor that knows you.”

“He's going to kill you, Tyler. And I went through that once. Where someone tried to kill you. And I don't think I can go through that again. I can't watch that again.”

“You won't have to. He is not going to kill me. No one is going to kill me. You need to just calm down. Please. I need you to have your head on straight tonight. I need you on your game for when we go and talk this bartender. If we want this to work...if we want the IRA to take care of McMann and lead us to the kids...we both have to show up tonight. Okay? I need you to have my back.”

“I do. I do have your back. But I don't want to go through that again. I almost lost you once. I can't go through that again. I can't...”

He silences her with a kiss; the soft, tender press of his mouths against hers. His palms sliding up her arms and settling up her shoulders before sliding around to her back and pulling her into him. “It's okay,” he assures her, lips against the side of her head. “Nothing is going to happen to me. I'm going to find those kids and then we are getting the fuck out of here and going home. We're going to go home to our kids and we're going to back to our lives and you...” he slips a hand between their bodies, resting it on her stomach. “...are going to help little bean grow big and strong. That will be the only thing you'll have to worry about once this is all over. I promise you.”

“I just want this to be over. I just want this all to end. So we can go home. So we can try to forget of any of this ever happened.”

“Soon,” he promises. “It'll be over soon.”

“You better still be alive when that happens.”

He gives a small smile, the presses his lips to her forehead. “I will be.”

****

They park a block away from the pub and wait for Yaz to confirm that the others are in place. She's nervous; chewing on the nail of one thumb while frantically shaking her leg from side to side, and he reaches out to lay a comforting hand on her thigh. She briefly glances his way; giving him a small smile before once more staring straight ahead. They haven't spoken since leaving the hotel; her nerves shot, his adrenaline running on high. 

But their worst fears had been alleviated when Ovi had finally contacted Tyler; calling via a brand new cell phone that they'd ended up stopping in Nebraska, hunkering down in a small, pet friendly hotel off the interstate. He was hoping for a non eventful stay; the kids were miserable because they'd been stuck in the car for so long, worried because they'd had to leave home in such a hurry, and scared that whoever was after them would find them. But they were comforted by Mac's presence; Ovi sending a comforting photo of the four of them falling asleep in one bed, the puppy curled up between Millie and TJ.

“What if this doesn't work?” Esme is the first to break the silence. 

“It will.”

“What if this just makes things worse?” she frets. “What if it pisses them off even more because some insiders are sticking their nose in their business? Aren't people like this usually really territorial?”

“They want McMann. That's all that is going to matter to them. They won't give a shit about anything else.”

“Do you really think they want him bad enough to give you what you want?”

“I don't think they do. I know they do. He's stepped on a lot of toes; pissed off all the wrong people. Worst thing he ever could have done was bring the IRA into it. He never should have blamed his wife and his kids on them. He would have been better off not blaming anyone.”

“But he thought you'd come in and stir up a shit load of trouble and the IRA would retaliate against you. So you'd get killed in the process but McMann's hands would stay clean.”

Tyler nods.

“This is so messed up. Please tell me this is the most messed up thing you've ever been caught up in.”

“It's pretty fucked,” he says. “But Dhaka was its own brand of fucked, so...”

She can't argue with that.

“If anyone can get McMann to talk, it'll be them. I've heard about some of the shit they do to people that have crossed them. And he knows what they're capable of so he's going to anxious to stop things from progressing that far. He'll tell them everything we need to know. And then some.”

“Do you think they'll kill him?”

“I know they will.”

“Better them than you doing it, I guess. Although something tells me you'd rather do it.”

“Now that I know what I do? Not that I know he's been in on this right from the start? That all this has been about was killing me? Yeah, I wouldn't mind being the one that pulls the trigger. Or breaks his neck. Had he not brought my wife and my kids into it, I might have had mercy on him. But as soon as he fucked with my family...”

Her smile is a little wider this time; brighter. Comforted in the knowledge that he's true to his word; he truly would stop at nothing to protect her and his kids. And she lays her hand over his, then laces their fingers together.

“I still can't figure out why he's after me though,” Tyler frowns. “I am one hundred percent sure that I have never come in contact with him. My brain is messed up, but it's not that messed up. I'd remember him. For sure. Unless he's tied to Asif somehow. He seemed pretty caught up in what happened in Dhaka. He always wanted to talk about. And not in the normal way people who meet me want to know about it. He always wanted to know details. How things happened. The way things went down. And he even knew we went back there. Why the hell would he know that? That wasn't an actual job. That was totally off the books.”

“Someone's been telling him things. I mean, he was able to get our address. Didn't you say there's a new tech guy?”

“Yeah. I don't know much about him. I don't even know his name. I don't think I've ever said more than three words to him. Why would I have a reason to? I'm just the muscle. I'm just the guy that goes in and gets his hands dirty and that's it.”

“Well, money does talk. McMann could have made him a good deal. He could have even put the fear of God into him. Maybe even both.”

“Yeah...maybe...” Tyler agrees, and pulls his bottom lip between his teeth as he considers all of the information that they do know. There's so many questions; so many holes that need to be filled in. And there's so much that he's not even sure is the truth anymore. Were the kids even missing? Or was that all a set up too? Had their parents somehow convinced them to go along with things? Maybe telling them it was all a game and offering some kind of reward at the end of things for cooperating ?

“What was Jason's last name?” he asks. “Do you remember?”

“Jason, Jason? The one you...”

“Yeah...that Jason. The one from the Sultana Kamal Bridge. What was his last name?”

“Anderson? Anders?” she racks her brain. “Andrews. Jason Andrews.”

“You're sure?”

“A hundred percent. Why?”

“How does McMann know what happened on the bridge? That second time we were in Dhaka. There were only four people there that day. Me, you, that little prick Fahrad, and Jason.”

“You think there might be a connection between Jason and McMann?”

“I don't know...I just...fuck...” he screws his eyes shut, attempting to get control of the thousand and one thought stampeding through his brain. The post concussion headache is making it's return; settling in behind his eye, around the stitches, and in his temple. And he feels the way Esme squeezes his hand; comforting, encouraging. “...it's like right there and my fucking brain won't let it out...it's sitting right...fucking...there...”

“It's okay. Just take it easy. I know it's frustrating and I know it sucks. But just try and stay calm and think slowly.”

“What did Jason say his parents did for a living? Didn't he mention it to you? Or he mentioned something about brothers? An older brother, maybe?”

“He had an older brother that was in the Marines. A gunnery sargeant. I could always ask Mark to get into the Marine database and look for him, but Andrews is a pretty common last name.”

“A very Irish last name,” Tyler concludes. “He was from New Orleans, I thought.”

“That's what he said. He had the accent and everything. And there's no way anyone can fake that kind of accent.”

“The kid that Nik hired. The tech. He has an accent. The same accent. And he's got a French last name. Like fucking six syllables long and impossible to pronounce. He's ex military.”

“You're sure?”

“Nik only hires ex military since Dhaka. For any position. And this kid, he talked to me about Dhaka. A couple times. And he mentioned he had a brother that visited there once. But the trip didn't go as planned and it didn't end the way he'd hoped it would.”

And suddenly all the pieces come together. The traffic jam finally lets up and everything starts to make sense. 

“For fucks sakes!” Tyler snarls. “The new kid is Jason's brother. Jason's real last name was not Andrews. Maybe it's his mother's maiden name, but it wasn't his legal name. The brother is the one that got McMann the information. From my file. McMann didn't approach him.”

“He hired McMann,” Esme concludes. “But how does he know what happened that day on the bridge? How...?”

“I had to write a fucking report. Nik wanted it. To show that I had a reason to kill one of my own people. I never thought about it after that. She took it and said it was a clean shoot and after that I didn't give a shit about what she did with it. She must have put it my file. So this little fucker went in there and read it and then hired McMann.”

“And that's how McMann knew you were in Guatemala. And where exactly to find you.”

“The tech kid would be keeping tabs on me. He'd know my exact coordinates. At all times. And it wouldn't take much to send McMann that info.”

“But it doesn't make sense that it's people from New Zealand that came to our house,” Esme says. “Why wouldn't McMann send his own people? I thought he and the Buckmans hated each other. I thought...”

“They don't hate each other. They're working together. They've been working together this entire time. There was never a feud. That was just bullshit McMann told me so I'd buy into the whole thing. And I fucking fell for it. I actually fucking fell for it.”

“Anyone would, Tyler. Anyone would have believed what he was saying. Look how well he played the part. Of the worried husband and father. How terrified he was that people were doing horrible things to his wife and his kids. And he knew you'd believe it. Like you said, your family is your weakness. You've said it time and time again that it's the one thing that can break you. And he preyed on that.”

“But where are the kids? That's why I can't figure out. Where the hell is he hiding them? And why he is going as far as he is? Letting people do sick shit to them? What kind of father would do that? Use his kids like that? I'd die for my kids. No questions asked. No hesitation. And he's out there doing shit like that? Like what the fuck?”

“He's sick. Obviously. If he's willing to go to these kinds of lengths to kill one man, there's not much he won't do.”

“But his kids. His own goddamn kids. His own flesh and blood,” a mixture of rage and disgust drips from every word. “And it's been almost two weeks. We haven't gotten proof of life in three days. Why? They've been up on it. Sending us shit every single day. Since we got here. Why have they stopped now?”

“They were hand delivering the photos, right?”

Tyler nods.

“They've been moved,” Esme concludes. “They're not even in Ireland anymore. They haven't been here for three days.”

“New Zealand.” Tyler states.

“The grandmother's store. The letter said that it had been sold. And when Yaz checked into it, it had been vacant for three months. We need proof though. We can't just take the chance we're right and take off to New Zealand and end up on some wild goose chase. We need proof, Tyler. Solid proof.”

“We'll get it. That's why we're going to see this guy, yeah? Your boyfriend?”

“Don't start with that. Five and a half years ago, I never would have taken you to be the jealous type. But now...”

“I used to be good at hiding it. How jealous I get. I'm not so good at it anymore. So if this guy even so much as gives you fuck me eyes...”

“You mean the fuck me eyes you've been giving me several times a day for the past five and a half years?” she teases, and he grins. “We can't fuck this up. We need these guys to help. We won't be able to find those kids without them.”

“They'll help.”

“How can you be so sure? This is the IRA we're talking about.”

“Because we have what they want. Who they want.”

“We hold all the cards.”

Tyler nods. “We take Michael McMann hostage.”


	40. Chapter 40

Billy Flynn is all smiles when she enters the pub's back room; a broad, pleased grin that stretches from ear to ear and shows off his dazzling white teeth. In normal circumstances...and in the old days...she would have found him attractive and irresistible; on the shorter end of the scale, but stocky and powerful. Broad shoulders and thick neck, an elaborate tattoo travelling from the left side of his collarbone and reaching his wrist. Auburn hair and sensational green eyes. Had she run into him ten years ago, she would probably would have taken the chance; allowing things to cross that dangerously thin line, even if just for one night. He's dressed casually, yet still well put together. A pair of well fitting jeans and a white t-shirt that seems to be stretching its limits as it struggles to cover his chest, the fabric tight around his biceps. He'd dressed with purpose; not wanting to look too eager to impress, but certain that he'd still be pleasing to the eye. And he moves to greet her, intending to place a hand on her hip and a kiss to her cheek, but then stopping in his tracks when he realizes they're not alone. And that confident, pleased grin immediately turns into a scowl.

“I'd think twice about that, mate,” Tyler warns, when he sees the hand that's reaching for his wife.

“Who's this?” Billy address Esme, attempting to laugh off the awkwardness of the situation. “Body guard? Big bastard, ain't he?”

“Actually,” she says. “He's my husband.”

His frown deepens, as does the disappointment and the hostility in his eyes. “Thought you said you were separated.”

“I'm not who you think I am. My name isn't Meghan Young. And I'm not a reporter from Chicago. I'm actually from Colorado. And my real name is Esme. Esme Rake. And this is my husband. Tyler.”

That frown turns into a knowing smirk. He recognizes the name. “You're the Australian.”

“Yeah,” Tyler says. “I guess I am.”

“You're the one that's here to help Michael McMann. You have a hell of a lot of balls showing up here.”

“Balls of steel,” Tyler confirms, flashing a smirk of his own.

“You're a gutsy, fucker. I'll give you that. Thought maybe you'd get the message by now.”

“What message is that?”

“We don't appreciate the likes of you coming here and sniffing around. Trying to cause problems. We have nothing to do with McMann's wife and kids. Guy is just trying to stir up shit and he's using you to do it. Word travels fast in certain circles. I heard the Buckmans sent some folks to fuck you up,” he gestures towards the various injuries; the black eye and the visible stitches at the top of Tyler's brow. “What does the other guy look like?”

“The same as the other three. Dead.”

“You realize that fucker's been playing you right? I thought the likes of you would be smarter than that. I've heard the stories, Australian. I've heard all about the damage you can cause. Impressive. A guy like you would actually come in handy around these parts. There's lot of people our organization would like to fuck up. And if you're as good as the stories say you are, you'd fit in nicely around here. And we can pay. A lot more than whoever you're working for now is paying you.”

“Not interested. I'm not a terrorist.”

“Bet you all the hundreds upon hundred of blokes you've fucked up over the years would say differently. I bet they were plenty terrorized by you. You could have a good life here. The pay would be excellent. Your wife and your kids would have a great life. We'd make sure of it.”

“Like I said,” Tyler remains steadfast. “I'm not interested. And I'm not here to stick my nose in your business. I'm here because I have something you want. And I'm willing to give it to you. For a price.”

“We don't do that kind of business with your type. You walked into the wrong bar, Australian. You best be walking out of it unless you want me to have some of the boys show you out.”

“I'd like to see your boys try, mate. I've dealt with bigger and better than the likes of you. I don't intimate. I don't get scared. I get even. And if you knew what was good for you, you'd shut the fuck up and listen to what I have to offer.”

“I highly doubt you have anything I'd be interested in. Unless you're offering up your pretty little wife here. I'd be more than willing to take her off your hands. For free.”

A brief smirk causes the corner of Tyler's mouth to twitch, and he takes a step towards the younger, smaller man. 

“We're not here to cause problems,” Esme attempts to diffuse the situation, physically placing herself between the two men. “We're here to talk.”

“Ditch the husband and we can talk all you want, love. I was expecting you show up alone.”

“That was never going to happen,” Tyler says. “You got played, mate. She walked in here and talked her game and sucked you right in. I bet you didn't see that coming, did you. I bet you looked at her and thought she was just some tiny, weak, vulnerable thing you could take advantage of. She fucked you. And not the good, fun type of fucked either. She was never going to walk in here alone. Over my dead body.”

“That could be arranged,” Billy retorts. “There's a lot of people who wouldn't mind taking their shot. I bet it would pay damn good money to kill the likes of you. The man. The myth. The legend.”

Tyler gives a derisive snort, then takes another step, once more prompting Esme to take action, planting herself between them once more.

“Okay, both of you need to calm the hell down,” she says. “Check the fucking egos, boys. Now is not the time. We just want to talk, Billy. That's it.”

“About what?” 

“We have something....or someone... that you want,” Tyler informs him.

“We can get you Michael McMann,” Esme says. “But there's some things we want in exchange.”

“What kind of things? We're not in the business of working with outsiders, or granting favours to them.”

“Maybe we could sit down and discuss this,” she suggests. “Because I don't know about the two of you, but there's just a little too much tension in this room and I think everyone needs to take a seat and chill the fuck out. We need to shit can the hostility and be rational, reasonable adults. Being like this...” she gestures between the two men. “...is not going to solve anything. Billy, this is not a fight you want to get into. Because if you throw that first punch, you won't get another one in. He will end you. No questions asked. And there won't be a goddamn thing you or your boys can do about it.”

“Is this really the hill you want to die on?” Tyler asks. “Because if it is, you just say the word, mate, and I'll make it happen.”

The other man finally relents; nodding slowly as he considers the full impact of the consequences he'd face if he did lash out. And he clears his throat noisily and turns away from them, gesturing towards the table that's already been set for dinner, dishes of cold foots and several different choices of beverages on display. “Can't let this all go to waste now, can we? Some good food and drink always starts a conversation off on the right foot. Join me. Let's talk. Tell me what it is you have and what you think I want.”

****

No one speaks for several minutes; Billy digging eagerly into the food as his guests sit back, watching and waiting. The tension still hangs in the air, but not with near the same amount of heaviness and discomfort. Esme has spent the majority of her time using a fork to push food around on her plate; an elaborate salad consisting of various types of lettuce, root vegetables, cranberries and almonds a sweet vinaigrette. She'd felt hungry; needing to get something into her nervous and relatively empty belly. But the second it was on her plate and the sight and the smell hit, any and all appetite and desire went straight out the window. And when Tyler feels her leg begin to shake nervously against his, he presses a tender, soothing kiss to her temple, then briefly lays a comforting hand on her thigh before getting up to pour her a glass of ice water from the pitcher in the middle of table.

“Are you sure you don't want anything?” Billy address him. “There's lot to go around. Saoirse is a fantastic cook. One of the best in Belfast. If not the entire country.”

“I'm fine,” Tyler says.

“Something to drink? I've got it all. Anything you could possibly want. You want beer, I got beer. I've got best single malt scotch in all of Ireland. And some pretty good rye and rum. Pick your poison.”

“I'm fine,” Tyler insists. “I'm not here to break bread with you, mate. This isn't a social visit. So how about we cut the shit and get down to business? I don't want you wasting my time. And I'm sure you don't want me wasting yours.”

“You've been wasting it since you walked in here,” Billy says. “You have a hell of nerve, Australian. Thinking you can just walk in here and make demands. Threaten people.”

“I haven't even gotten started. You want demands? I've got demands. You want threats? Well I have loads of those too. Only difference between you and me is that I follow through on my threats. And call me Australian one more time, and I'll knock your teeth so far down your throat, someone is going to have to go up your ass to remove them.”

Esme noisily clears her throat; sipping at her water as she shifts nervously beside him.

“Strictly business,” Billy smirks. “I've heard that about you. That you don't fuck around. That you like to get in, get your hands dirty, and get the hell out. And you've fucked a lot of shit up...a lot of people up, if the stories are to be believed. I've heard you have quite the temper. That you're pretty damn savage. Brutal. Merciless.”

“Only if I have to be. And if you keep fucking me around like this, you're going to see just how bad it can get. So about we just get right down to it. No more games. Because I'm not in the mood to be fucked around with.”

“Fair enough,” Billy says. “I like that about you. You don't take anyone's shit. You call people out on their crap. I respect that. Like I've already said, you'd be a good addition to the family. We need someone like you to go in and fuck shit up. Someone that can intimidate but won't be intimidated. You sure you're not ready to move on to bigger and better things? Because we'd make it worth your while.”

“I already said I'm not interested. I don't care how good you make things sound or how much you can offer me. You people are the last ones I'd ever get mixed up with. Now do you want McMann or not?”

“We'd already have him if we wanted him.”

“Bullshit. He's gone deep underground, mate. He knows how to hide. And he knows how to stay hidden. The IRA taught him that. He's out there. And he's got all the IRA's secrets. All the skeletons in the closet. He's just biding his time. He's going to sit back and wait and then when you least expect it, he's going to blow shit up. You don't have him because you can't find him. No matter how hard you poke around.”

“And you think you can? Find him?”

“I don't need to find him. I already know where he is. All I have to do is call him and arrange to meet with him. That'll get him out of hiding right quick.”

“You think he'll come running just because you say so?” Billy smirks. “What makes you think you're so goddamn special?”

“I don't think he'll come running. I know he will. I just killed four of his men. I just uncovered all his dirty little secrets I know him and his wife are the ones that planned all of this; staging her abduction, taking the kids, trying to pin it all on you and get me here to cause all kinds of shit. He knows I know all of it. He knows I can blow the whole fucking thing wide open and make things a hell of a lot worse for him.”

“So why don't you?” the other man inquires. “Why don't you make things a hell of a lot worse for him?”

“I'm already in the process of doing that, mate. You're not the only one I'm working with.”

“Let's get this straight...Australian..Rake...we are not working together. We...the IRA...we don't work with outsiders.”

“But you'll want to this time,” Esme speaks up. “You'd be stupid not to.”  
Billy smirks. “Love, you're really nice to look at, but this is a man's conversation so...”

“Don't fucking talk to her like that,” Tyler's voice is low but menacing. Eyes dark. Jaw tight. “Don't ever talk to my wife like that. You don't disrespect her. You don't talk down to her. You don't order her around. Because you try it again, and I will hand you your ass, understand me?”

The other man blinks at the vehemence in his voice, then nods.

“McMann wants me dead,” Tyler says. “And not just 'cause I figured out his dirty secret and I fucked up four of his guys. That just made it worse. He's wanted me dead for a while now. Someone hired him. To come after me. He was supposed to get the job done in Guatemala three weeks ago but one of my guys found out what he was up to and put a stop to it.”

“Who'd you piss off?” Billy inquires. “Who hired him?”

“Five years ago, I killed someone that was going to hurt my wife. This guy's brother found out about and figured he needed payback.”

“You did the right thing though. You were protecting your girl. Any man would do that. Any real man, anyway.”

“Well the brother doesn't think so. He managed to land a job with the people I work for and dig up all kinds of shit on me. Personal stuff. My wife's name, where we live, my kids' names and where they go to school.”

Billy scowls. “That's one fucking line that should never be crossed. Bringing a woman and kids into things. I've got a kid of my own. A boy. I'd kill any bastard that so as much looks at him the wrong way. How many do you have? Kids?”

“Four.,” Tyler says. “A little girl, twin boys, and a tenth month old boy. And there's one on the way. So you can understand even more why I need to protect my family. Why I need to protect my wife.”

“I do. And congratulations. A baby's always good news that deserves to be celebrated. So he's after your family? Your kids. McMann?”

“He's concentrating on killing me, but he's sent people after my kids. He sent the Buckmans. Or people associated with them. They've been sending pictures to the house; of my kids, my wife. Letting me know that they'd been watching them and they know where to find them. And they showed up. At my house. So needless to say, I'm a little fucking pissed.”

“Rightfully so,” Billy says. “I'd be ready to kill the bastard too. But the Buckmans? How...?”

“They're working together,” Esme speaks up. “They've been working together from the very beginning. McMann made it seem like the Buckmans were solely responsible. To throw everyone off his scent. But they're both in on it. And they've been using those kids. In the worst possible way. And for that alone they need to be punished. Can you imagine a parent being that sick and twisted? Could you imagine someone doing that to your boy?”

“I'd kill him,” Billy declares. “With no hesitation. So this was all some big game?” he asks Tyler. “Just to get to you?”

“When he couldn't kill me in Guatemala, he came to Colorado. And he brought this big bullshit story about needing me to find his wife and his kids. And he's good. Really good. Because I fell for it. He sucked me right in and now look where I am. Stuck in this fucking mess. He thought he'd get me here and I'd cause all kinds of shit with you people and it would be the IRA that would end up killing me and...”

“We thought about,” Billy admits. “When we found out you were here working with that prick. Then when we heard what you did to his boys the other day, we called it off. Made us think maybe you weren't on his side after all. Now I now you're not. If everything you're telling me is true.”

“I wouldn't bullshit about this, mate. Not when my wife and my kids are involved. If he'd just come after me, that would have been one thing. But he's sent people to my house. He knows that's what makes me vulnerable; my family. And he knew I'd come here to save a couple kids. That I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I didn't find them and get them the hell out of there. He knows my one, true weakness and he's exploiting the shit out of it.”

“And you'd be willing to just cough him up? Let us have him?”

“It depends.”

“On what?”

“What you'd be willing to offer me in exchange. I'll give him to you, but I've got some demands. Some things that I want. And I won't hand him over unless you agree to them.”

Billy leans back in his chair, hands clasped behind his neck. “Well let's hear them, Rake. Let's see if it's worth my time getting involved.”

“I will give you McMann and the Buckmans if you send people to watch over my kids. If you can get a couple or a few guys to keep an eye on things. They're in Nebraska. Safe. With someone I trust. But we both know that's not going to stop these people. That they're going to track them down and find them, no matter how well they hide. I know how badly the Buckmans have pissed off the IRA. I know you guys want them just as much as you want McMann. So kill two birds with one stone; protect my kids, and hit the Buckmans where it hurts.”

“And you can get him? McMann? You're sure?”

“No doubt in my mind. He wants me dead. He's tried twice now. Fucked it up both times. What's the saying? Third time's the charm? If I call him and say we need to meet to discuss things, if I tell him I'm about to blow shit up and cause him a world of hurt, he'll show up.”

“And if he brings people with him? You know he won't show up alone. He doesn't have the balls to go toe to toe with you. He knows he'd lose. So he brings a bunch of guys with him and then what? You have to fight your way out of that? You're good, but you're not that good.”

“I wouldn't be going into this alone. I have people that will watch my back and get involved if they need to. But if I can get him there alone, I can handle him myself. I won't kill him. Even though I want to. I'll let you guys do that.”

“And all you want is for us to keep an eye on your kids?”

Tyler nods. “That's all I want. That's all that matters. You keep an eye on my kids while I go and find McMann's.”

Billy sighs, then leans forward to pick up his stein; taking a long sip of his lager. “You realize I can't make this decision on my own, right? I can't just tell you here and now that we're in on this. There's people above me. With more power. They're the ones that have to make the decision on whether we want to be part of this or not.”

“I understand that, mate. But you can be the person that goes to them and convinces them that this needs to be done. Because I know you want to do it. You're a father, just like me. And I know you'd do anything in your power to protect your boy.”

“That I would,” he agrees.

“I've got to get those kids. McMann and his wife are letting this happen. They're behind it. What's going on with those kids is very real and it's fucking twisted and sick and I need to get them the fuck out of there before it gets even worse. But I can't do that if I need to go home and protect my own.”

“If it was up to me, if I had the final say, I would do it,” Billy admits. “In a heartbeat. But I'm just one guy. And you need more than just one guy. I'm going to need some time. A couple days. Four at the most. To get everyone together that I need to get. Are you kids safe? For the time being?”

“There with someone I trust,” Tyler says. “And I don't trust many people.”

“I'll contact who I need to contact. But if anything gets worse...if even more shit goes down...and your kids suddenly aren't safe any more, you get a hold of me right away and I'll round up a couple buddies and we'll go there ourselves. Deal?”

“Deal,” he agrees.

“In the meantime, you keep yourself alive. Maybe even have a little fun at our friend McMann's expense.”

Tyler grins. “I plan to.”

****

“It wasn't a stereotype,” Esme comments, her voice sleepy. “It really does rain here a lot.”

It's shortly before midnight as they lay in a mess of tangled sheets and sweaty, naked limbs. The windows open; a stiff breeze fluttered the curtains, the rain strong and steady as it beats against both the cement and the metal of the balcony. Both are sated and spent; three rounds of intense love making and many orgasms (on her part), his back covered in deep, near bloody fingernail gouges, bite marks on his shoulders and collarbone. All the frustration and aggression and eventual relief being released in the way they know best. 

“Makes my fucking head hurt,” Tyler mumbles as he lays on his left side; his face in her hair, a leg draped over hers, and a hand resting just below her breasts. “All the rain.”

“Well look on the bright side. Pain means something still exists up there between your ears.”

He chuckles, then nips at the nape of her neck. “Fuck you, Esme.”

“You just did. Three times. What more do you want?”

“I dunno. What's our record? For one night?”

“Five. Five and a half actually. I'd say six but you came before I did the last time and we both know that only counts as half.”

He frowns. “That's some bullshit.”

“I'm sorry, I don't make the rules. It is what it is, Tyler. It does not count as a full number if you get to come first.”

“It counts if I go back and get you off. That makes up for the half point. You can't tell me it doesn't. Why wouldn't it count? It counts.”

“No. It doesn't. Once you lose that half point, you can't get it back. It doesn't matter how hard you try or if you're successful at it. It doesn't count. You won't convince me otherwise. So don't argue about this. This is a war you will not win.”

“Who makes these rules? I want to see the instructions for this game. Because we're not playing it the same.”

“Everyone knows that's the rule. Everyone. Just because you're asleep at the wheel...”

“It makes no fucking sense that it doesn't count if I go back and finish things off. Explain to me how it doesn't count. Because it counts.”

“There's a time frame you have to finish things in.”

“Says who?”

“The people who make the rules. For fuck sakes Tyler, get your shit together.”

“But who makes the rules? Who are these people?”

“Women whose husbands have the goddamn bloody nerve to come first, that's who.”

He groans in exasperation. “That's only happened twice in five and a half years and you know it.”

“It doesn't matter. It still happened so you still have to follow the rules.”

“Listen, I went back and got the job done. So it fucking counts and that's the end of it. That makes it six.”

“Ughhh...” she moans dramatically. “...you aren't playing by the rules, Tyler James.”

“Fuck your rules,” he chuckles, and she likes the way the noise rumbles deep within his chest, reverberating against her back. “I don't want to play this game anymore.”

“Well I'm sorry if it upsets your delicate sensibilities but that is the rules. It does not count as a full point unless you go back and finish things off in a certain time frame.”

“What's the time frame?””

“Forty five seconds to a minute. You took one minute and ten seconds. So sorry. It does not count.”

“Now you're just changing the rules to suit what you want. You're not playing fair. At all.”

“Do you want to phone a friend? Like on Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? Because your friends are going to say the same thing because they also have to play by the rules.”

“I'll take 'who is being an unreasonable bitch for two hundred, Alex'.”

“That's Jeopardy. Oh my God. How did I ever marry you? Like what was I thinking? You can't follow the rules, you can't keep your pop culture references correct and in order, you leave dirty socks and underwear in front of the hamper instead of putting them in it, you leave the toilet seat up in the middle of the night...”

“You married me for other reasons.”

“Yeah? Like what? Give me three.”

“I'm tall and I can reach the stuff on the high shelves and you don't need to get a step stool.”

“Okay, I'll agree to that one.”

“I don't mind killing the spiders and all the bugs you say are gross.”

“Hmmm...yeah...you can have that.”

“I have a big dick and I know how to use it.”

She sighs dreamily. “Yes. Yes you do. On both counts. Fine. You win. I'll give you that extra half point. It's six now.”

He grins and presses a kiss to her cheek. “Thank you.”

“Don't ever say I never do anything nice for you. Because if it gets out that I gave you that half point, I will lose my bitchy wife card and I don't want to give it up.”

“You get to keep your bitchy wife card,” he assures her. “I'll keep my annoying, pain the ass husband card.”

“You may be an annoying pain in the ass, but you're my annoying pain in the ass,” she declares, and looks over her shoulder at him, smiling as he pecks her lips. “No one elses annoying, pain in the ass. Mine.”

“I'm all yours, babe. All yours.”

“Good,” she says with a content sigh, and then places her hand over his, entwining their fingers together. And she feels the soft tickle of his lashes against the back of her neck as he closes his eyes. “Tyler?”

“Yeah?”

“Please tell me that you're not going alone to meet McMann tomorrow.”

“I already told you, Mark and his guys will be there.”

“Like there, there as in right there, or...”

“Less than a hundred yards away. I'll be wearing a wire; they'll be able to hear everything that's going on. One of them will be acting as a sniper, just in case.”

“I'd feel better if I went with you.”

“What are you going to do that they can't do? They aren't rookies. They know what they're doing. And I'd feel better if you weren't with me.”

“Well that's...rude.”

“I don't mean it like that. If something happens, I don't want you being there. I don't want anything happening to you. Or little bean...” he moves their joined hands down to her stomach. “...I don't want to lose either of you.”

“And I don't want to lose you. We just found out about the baby. I kind of want him or her to actually meet you.”

“Her,” he says. “It's a her.”

“Yeah? How do you know that?”

“I had a dream the other night. That we had another baby. That it was a girl.”

“Are you just saying that because you know I'm sick of all the testosterone in the house, or...”

“Nope. It's true. I had a dream that we were in Australia. And we took the kids to the ocean for the first time. And there was another baby. A girl.”

“What did she look like?”

“You. She had your hair and your eyes. And she was tiny. Way smaller than all the rest have been.”

“Hmm...” she runs her thumb along the top of his hand. “...how did that make you feel?”

“How did what make me feel?”

“Having a girl. Having another daughter.”

“I dunno,” he shrugs. “I was fine with it. Why wouldn't I be? It's a baby. That we made together. I don't care if it's a boy or girl.”

“After Millie, you wanted a son,” she points out.

“Well...yeah....every guy wants a son. At least one. I ended up with three. So I'm fine with a girl. You know it doesn't matter to me. As long and you and the baby are okay, that's all I care about. And that is exactly why I don't want you coming with me tomorrow. Just in case things do go to shit. That way neither of you can get hurt.”

“I don't exactly want you getting hurt either.”

“Baby...” he lifts his head from his pillow, then presses his lips against her temple before resting his cheek against hers. “..I'm going to be fine.”

“I thought you were going to be fine three days ago, but...”

“That's different. We didn't know what McMann was up to yet. Now we know and now I have people watching my back. Nothing bad is going to happen to me. I promise.”

“You know how many times in the past five and a half years you've told me nothing bad is going to happen to you and something bad has happened to you?” she challenges.

“So maybe I should use reverse psychologically from now on? Say that something bad is going to happen and then the opposite happens?”

“That's not how this works. That's not how any of this works. But look at you go! Using big words like reverse psychology.”

“You know what, you can be a real bitch sometimes,” he teases, and presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

“But you love me.”

“Yes,” he says. “Yes I do.”

She smiles and turns towards him, his hand settling on the small of her back, lips against her forehead. “I love you, Tyler. So much it hurt sometimes.”

“I don't want it to hurt.”

“It's a good hurt, though. It's not the kind of hurt that comes with a broken heart or anything like that. It's a hurt that reminds me that I'm still alive. That you're still alive. That we've been through so much together. Yet we're still here. Still working on things. Every day. We don't give up on it. Or each other.”

“I already told you. I'm in this for the long haul. You can't get rid of me that easy.”

“I don't want to get rid of you,” she says. “Ever.”

“Good,” he grins, and drops a kiss on her head before pulling her even tighter against her. “'Cause I think I'll keep you around.”

“Are you still planning on trading me in for two thirty olds when you turn sixty?” 

“No. I've changed it to three twenty year olds,” he teases. “Hey, if you can have your rules, I can have mine.”

“I don't like your rules. Fuck you and your rules.”

“Fuck me, huh? Is that an offer?”

“I don't know. How lucky are you feeling?”

He grins. “I'm feeling like I could beat the number six.”


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: profanity, DarkTyler

The storage facility lies on the outskirts of town; in the middle of a derelict portion of an industrial complex. Abandoned warehouses flanking it to both the east and west, long abandoned train tracks to the north and a sewage treatment plant to the south. Weeds manage to thrive within the chips and cracks of old concrete, litter caught up in the rusted metal of a chain link fence. There hasn't been true signs of life in these parts for years; the factories that were still thriving were more than a kilometre, and no one aside from those wanting to take belongings out of their lockers ever visited the area. The sense and appearance of abandonment and neglect adding something dark and dreary to an already sinister plan

He's the last to arrive; parking the SUV among the small group of vehicles already gathered by the front gate. The security system for the facility had long ago been vandalized; someone had broken into the security system and stolen all the intricate parts, rendering the keypad useless. All that exists now are loose wires and scattered bits of metal, the gate permanently left open for anyone...whether it be thief or transient...to gain access. He kills the ignition and checks his phone; reading through unopened text messages, the engine softly ticking as is it cools. Letting his wife know that he'd arrived safe and sound at his first destination, but not giving any details.

The less she knows the better; some things are better left unspoken, some plans better left just between the people actually getting their hands dirty. All his resolve is gone. All his patience shredded. Any and all mercy has ceased to exist. He's at peace with his decision; resolved, determined, calm. With not even the slightest bit of hesitation or an inkling of remorse haunting him. And he tells himself that this could have been avoided had McMann not crossed that line. If he'd simply had the balls to go right to the source of his issues instead of taking a coward's way out. This is on him now. Whatever happens...whatever plan begins to unravel...the moment Tyler steps up of the car, it is a fate that the other man has brought onto himself. No one will find him out here. No one will be able to hear the suffering, the begging, the pleading. No one will be able to come to his aid. And in the end, when he finally thinks it's over and he's about to be shown mercy, he'll be handed over to begin another nightmare all in itself.

He sends her a second message. Telling her that he loves her. Reassuring her that everything is going to be okay. That he'll message her once the second part of that day's mission is done and McMann has been taken care up; holed up somewhere under lock and key, where he'll be kept until the IRA has made up their mind. And he adds : 'I'll see you when I see you', the exact words he's used for the past four years every time he abandons her and their children to go and solve someone else's problems. 

“What do you think?” Yaz asks, when Tyler joins him at the front gate. 

He'd been there for an hour now, arranging things exactly as had been requested. Their own surveillance feed that they can view from their cell phones or their laptops; cameras placed at the front gate, the doorway of the unit Tyler had rented using a fake name and stolen credit card, and three within the actual storage locker itself. There'd been eyes and ears on McMann twenty four hours a day; no one aside from those who knew of the storage locker and then plans for it would be going in or out. The situation would be controlled. Monitored. Right down to the very second. And if he somehow managed to get away and make a run for it, he wouldn't get far; Yaz would be installing an ankle monitor the moment McMann arrived on site.

“I think it's perfect,” he replies, as they fall in step alongside of each other and pass through the gate. Dirt and gravel crackling under the soles of his combat boots; kicking away any wayward rubbish that lies in his path. The storm the night before had brought the humidity; sweat glistens on his brow and trickles down his temples; the back of his t-shirt already damp. 

“Esme's okay?”

“She's sick. Can't keep anything down. Not even water.”

“The baby or...?”

“Could be the baby. Could be stress. Could be nerves. She's been sick before; with all the others. But nothing this bad.”

“A sign maybe? That something is wrong? With the baby?”

Tyler frowns. “Why the fuck would you even say that?”

“I'm not saying that there is something wrong. And I'm not wishing or hoping there is. I'm just saying that...fuck...I don't even know what I'm saying.” He's nervous. Despite all the jobs that he's assisted with, all the perilous and high stakes situations he's been in, the nerves have been rubbed raw. This is a first for him. When they'll actually be inflicting the damage instead of trying to end it. 

“She's fine,” Tyler says, more an attempt to reassure himself than Yaz. “The baby's fine. She's just freaking out. She's thousands of miles away from home. From her kids. She's worried about them, worried about Ovi and Chloe, worried about me. This fucking sucks, mate. That she has to go through all of this. Especially now. This should be a happy time. We just found out we're having a baby. We should be ecstatic. And instead we're dealing with this bullshit. She deserves better than this. So does that baby.”

“Well at least we can kind of see the finish line now,” Yaz reasons. “We're a hell of a lot closer than we were two days ago, that's for sure. Heard anything from the IRA yet?”

“Flynn said it would be two days at the earliest, four at the latest. I don't expect to hear anything from them for a while.”

The air inside the storage building is stifling; humidity hanging heavily. The air conditioning unit is ancient and had long ago stopped working, and the owners of the facility seemed to be in no hurry to fix it. A foul stench lingers in the air; a mixture of rotting garbage in the bins outside, pollution from the factories and the mills only a kilometre away, and the tell tale odour of mould and mildew. Not the most pleasant, but after wading through that sewer in Dhaka and having to wait there for more than hour for Gaspar to pick them up, smells rarely bother Tyler anymore. But he notices the way Yaz scrunches up his nose; a scowl appearing on his face before he begins to cough and gag.

“What if they don't agree to this?” Yaz asks. “What if this is all for nothing?”

“Even if they do say no, it won't be for nothing. Trust me.”

“How long will you keep him here? If they don't want him. How long does he have before...you know...”

“I'll kill him when I'm good and ready. And I will. Kill him. If they don't.” 

He's calm as he says it. Matter of fact. There's no hesitation. He'd made the decision on the drive over. If the IRA didn't want McMann, then he'd take care of the problem himself. But not before the other man was taught a very valuable lesson. It's the first time he hasn't experienced even the slightest bit of remorse or guilt over the thought of taking another life. Killing had never been about satisfaction or pleasure. He's killed because he's had to. Because his own survival came down to it. He's never been proud of the reputation. Or the body count. But this is different. 

This is personal.

“Are you sure this is what you want to do?” Yaz asks, as motions towards the last door on the left. Garage style; black aluminum that rolls up into the ceiling. He'd rented the largest one possible; so whoever was in charge of watching McMann during set shifts would have a place to eat and rest. There'd be a team of four, switching out every six hours. And always a set off eyes on either laptop or cell phone. 

“It's what I need to do,” Tyler replies. “For my wife. For my kids.”

“Do you think she'd really want this, Tyler? If she knew exactly what you were up to? You think she'd want to know what you're capable of?”

“She already knows that, mate. She saw what I was capable of five and a half years ago in Dhaka. She knows who I am. She knows what I do.”

“But this? This goes above and beyond what she saw. What she knows. Do you really think she'd want to know about this? About what kind of man you can be?”

“No,” he admits. “Probably not. She'd probably hate me. Or be scared of me She'd probably never trust me again. Maybe she'd even leave me and take my kids.”

It's the bitter and hard truth of the situation; in the middle of trying to protect and avenge his family, he could in fact end up losing them. But she'd understand. If she'd listen to him long enough. If she gave him a chance to explain, she would realize that he'd done it for her. For their kids. To protect the only things that truly mattered in his life. She'd saved him. Given him a second chance. And McMann had threatened that. To take away the one person that he had held on for. 

And he deserves to pay for it.

“Then why do it?” Yaz asks. “Why risk it? Why risk losing everything over one person?”

“Because,” he replies, and steps over the threshold of the storage unit. “He fucked with the wrong man's family.”

***

“Things are coming together,” Mark says, his hands on his hips as he watches two of his Marines -Nathan and Zak- secure the last two cameras; one above the door, the other in the middle of the room to the left, three inches from the ceiling. The remaining member of his team has been assigned to stay behind at the hotel, ordered to stay glued to Esme's hip at all times until Tyler's returned from the his meeting with McMann. “Not too shabby for a couple of jar heads, huh? They're determined to get shit done, that's for sure.”

“It all gonna be ready for when he gets here?” Tyler asks. He doesn't want to leave any stone unturned. Not even the simplest of details can be overlooked. There is no room for error. And even the smallest mistake could spell disaster. 

“Should be. Come check this out...”

There's a crude metal chair in the middle of the room; a sack made from heavy black fabric that will be used to cover McMann's head and a package of zip ties sitting on the seat. But it's meal table pushed against the far wall that Mark leads him too. A wide selection of knives and handguns nearly arranged on top of it, along with the lesser used tools of the trade.

“We've got the usual,” Mark says, as he nods down at the objects on display. “Standard run of the mill shit. But these...” he takes two steps sideways. “...this is where the real nasty stuff is. The ones that can really pack a punch. We've got a couple of tasers, a few box cutters, a ball-peen hammer, crowbar. Even a couple pairs of pliers. You know, for the little jobs and small spaces you need to get into.”

Tyler picks up a handsaw; inspecting the edges, the handle, the sharpness of the blade. 

“That was my personal addition,” Mark says. “Right from my own collection. She's seen some dirty jobs, if you know what I mean. Hasn't let me down yet.”

Tyler smirks. “You do this kind of shit often?”

“Things used to get a little wild in Iraq. We used to have to resort to some pretty extreme things when dealing with the terrorists. Especially the ones we caught that were guilty of doing unspeakable shit to women and kids. You know, the kind that needs to meet the karma bus head on. I'm sure you saw some things in the Middle East.”

Tyler nods. His final three tours with the Australian army had been spent in Kandahar. He'd seen first hand what the Taliban had been capable of doing to women and children. He'd been on night patrol when his platoon had managed to capture a man known to be a serial rapist and pedophile. It's where he'd seen and learned the most savage of tricks in his playbook. Committing every act of depravity his commanding officer had inflicted upon that Iraqi to his memory. He had hoped that he'd never have to use any of those things; that a gun, knife, or fist would be the only weapons he'd have to rely on while on the job. But now the inevitable is right there in front of him. And instead of horror and disgust, he feels nothing. 

He has nothing left to give. The job has taken it all. Every ounce of compassion and humanity that he'd ever possessed.

“You don't have to do this,” Mark says. “I know why you're doing it. And I get why you feel like it has to be done. But you don't need to do it, Tyler.”

“Yeah...” he picks up one of the box cutters and clicks open the blade. “...I do.”

“Once you cross that line, you can't come back. You realize that, don't you? Once you go from killing out of necessity to killing for sport...for revenge...you'll never be the same. Once we become that monster that's been living inside of us for years...for decades...that monster never goes away. That monster is going to live with you for the rest of your life.”

“If that's the way it has to be...” he shrugs as his voice trails off.

“Kid, listen to me. I've been in this type of situation before. I've had to resort to some pretty sick and twisted shit to get things I needed. To teach someone a lesson. And it fucks with you. It does something to you. Up here...” he taps the tip of his index fingers against his temple. “...it changes you. To the point you won't even recognize yourself. You're going wake up one morning and you're going to look in the mirror and not even know who the fuck you are anymore. Is that really what you want? To become some former version of yourself? And I'm not just talking about what it's going to do to you. I'm talking about what it's going to do to Esme. To see you like that. To not even know who you are anymore. Is that really want you want?”

“I'm not the same man I was when we first met. That man died that day on the Sultana Kamal Bridge. Five and half years ago that man died and this is who was left behind. Do you think that was fair to her? That she had to see that? That she had to sit there while I was dying in her arms? That she stayed behind just to save my life? She gave up everything that day. She was never the same. Neither of us were.”

“She stayed because she wanted to be with you. Because she was in love with you. When Esme loves, she loves hard. With everything she's got. Do you really think she sees you the way you see yourself? You think you died that day. She thinks she saved you. She thinks she's the one that kept you hanging on.”

“She was,” he admits. “She's the only reason I did hang on.”

“She doesn't see you any differently now than she did back then. You're the same Tyler in her eyes. She doesn't look at you and see someone damaged and broken. She just sees you. That's it But this? What you're going to do here? That will change you. You will become a different person. And not a better one. Is that what you really want for her? Do you want her to look at you one day and not know who the fuck you are anymore? Because this is going to haunt you. This is going to eat at you. And she's going to be the one that pays the ultimate price.”

Tyler nods, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth. It's a nervous habit. Or one he resorts to when emotion is beginning to overwhelm him. He won't be able to keep it a secret forever. He knows that. But if he can hold it together just long enough to be victorious over his own monsters and his own demons, he can spare her the knowledge of just who he is and what he's capable of. If he can keep the secret just long enough...to the point where it doesn't eat him alive from the inside out...everything will be okay. 

They'd be okay.

“You've got this amazing thing going on,” Mark continues. “You've got a wife, four kids, one on the way. Why would you want to fuck that up?”

“I don't,” he clears his throat noisily. “That's the last thing I want.”

“Think about those kids, Tyler. Your kids. You won't be the person they know right now. You won't be the same dad you are this very second. Is that really what you want? They're just babies still. The oldest is only five. Five! And you're going to go back to those kids and slowly you're going to become a different person. Right in front of them. Think about what that's going to do to them. When daddy suddenly isn't daddy anymore. For fuck sakes. Tyler. You do not have to do this.”

“Yes. I do,” he insists. “They deserve this.”

“The fuck they do. Look, I get it. You're pissed. McMann fucked with the wrong guy. He never should have went after your family. But they're safe. You took care of things. You found out before it got any further. You got your kids out. You got Ovi and the girl out. You protected them. Now they're safe and that's all that matters. What is this going to do? You doing this? Other than fuck you up?”

“He needs to be taught a lesson. I warned him. Before I even got on that plane to come here. I told him that if I found out he was fucking with me and going after my family, I'd make him sorry. And that's what I'm going to do. I'm going to make him sorry. He's going to pay. I'm going to teach him a very valuable lesson. For as long and as painfully as I can.”

“But why? Why the fuck do you need to do that? Jesus Christ, Tyler. Do you realize what you sound like? Do you realize who you sound like? You sound just like those crazy fucks that you have to rescue people from. This is the kind of shit those people do. What guys like Mahajan and Asif did to people. When did you cross that line? When did you stop being the hero and start being one of them?”

“Let's get one thing straight...” Tyler's voice is low, menacing, as he turns to face Mark. “...I've never been a hero. I've never claimed to be one. I never wanted to be one. I help people because it's my job. I go in there, I get shit done, I get paid. That's it. I don't do it to be a fucking hero.”

“But you're still one of the good guys. You still go in and help people. This? This is not helping people. This is far from it. You don't kill because you like it. You kill because you have to. To save yourself. To save your mark. But this is intentional, Tyler. You have this all planned and all thought out and you're acting like it's no big deal. That it's just a normal day for you. This is not normal!”

“He needs to pay,” Tyler growls. “He needs to pay for going anywhere near my kids. For taking me away from them. For bringing my wife into this fucking mess. And I'm going to make him pay. And there's not a goddamn thing you can do about it.”

“I could tell Nik.”

Tyler gives a dry laugh. “What the fuck is she going to do? She has nothing to with this. This all me. I'm in charge here. So go. Run off to her and tell her. I don't give a shit. She can't stop me either.”

“I'll tell Esme, then.”

Tyler's eyes narrowed. “Don't do that. Don't bring her into this. That's fucking low and you know it. Using her against me? Using my own wife as a weapon?”

“She's the only one that can stop you from fucking your whole life up. She saved you once. Let her save you again.”

“I don't need saving. I need revenge. I want him to pay. For what he did to my family. For what he's put them through. What he's put her through. She deserves that. She deserves revenge.”

“She doesn't want revenge, Tyler. She want her husband. She wants the father of her kids. As he is now. Now what he's going to become if he goes through with this. She wants a normal life. With you. And that won't happen if you do this. This has gone far enough. You're going to hand McMann over and he can be the IRA's problem.”

“And if they don't want him? What then?”

“Then you kill him. Nice and clean. None of this shit.”

“No,” Tyler shakes his head. “That's not enough. That's not nearly enough.”

“This is fucking insane and you know it. You're unhinged. You need to get your shit together. You need to get your fucking head on straight. Forget about this. You don't need to do this. Because I will tell her. I'm not bullshitting. I will call her right now. Is that what you want? You want me to call her right now and let her know where you are and what you're up to?”

Tyler's eyes narrow, his nostrils flare. “Don't do this.”

“Fuck this,” Mark removes his cell phone from pocket of his hoodie. “If you're not going to back down and get your shit together, I'll let her handle this. She's pretty good at reining you, right? She's gotten used to having to keep you under control.”

“Don't do this,” Tyler repeats. “Don't fucking do this.”

“You did this. You did this, Rake. And if you're not going to save yourself, maybe she can.”

He only manages to get the screen turned on and the first number pushed, Tyler's elbow slamming into his face and sending him sprawling backwards into the floor. And there's a clamour as chaos erupts within the storage unit; the two Marines quickly bolting to their boss' side; ladders toppling over with a crash.

“Rake... you fucking asshole!” Mark bellows, as he struggles to his feet, a hand clutching his broken and bloody nose. “...what the hell is wrong with you? Are you fucking crazy?!”

“You should have just stayed the fuck away!” Tyler roars. “You should have stayed away from her. You never should have showed up at my house. You have no right. You have no fucking right being anywhere near her!”

“Is that really what this is about? Is that what you just did what you did? Because you're jealous.”

“I'm jealous?! What the fuck do I have to be jealous of. She left you, remember? She got tired of your shit and she left. Do you buddies know what you did? Do they know how you treated her? Huh? Did you tell them any of that? Or did you just make her out to be the bad person?”

“You're going to resort to that? You're going to resort to bringing that shit up? Are you that fucking desperate?”

“Did he tell you?” Tyler asks the Marines. “Did he? Did he tell you that my wife is his ex wife? Did he tell you why she left him? Did he tell you about how he got a blow job from a stewardess coming back from his honeymoon? I bet he didn't tell you that.”

“You're really going to do this?” Mark rages. “You're really going to bring this up? It's none of your fucking business!”

“She's my fucking business! She's my wife. That makes her my business. I bet you didn't tell them that you liked to beat on her. That at first you started hitting her where she could hid the bruises with clothes. But then after awhile you just didn't give a fuck anymore and you'd give her black eyes, split lips, bloody noses. How about the two times you put her in the hospital? Do you blokes now about that? Well if you didn't, you sure as fuck do now.”

“Whoa...whoa...” Yaz finally appears from the corridor, having been caught up organizing and setting up any remaining technology. “What the hell is going on here?”

“He's fucking crazy,” Mark nods in Tyler's direction. “That's what's going on here.”

“I'm just letting these guy know what an upstanding citizen their boss is,” Tyler explains. “You know, the kind that likes to beat on women. The kind that likes to cheat on them. The kind that's a narcissistic dick bag that gas lighted her into thinking she was the problem, That she wasn't good enough. That she'd never be good enough. Or how about how he blamed her for losing a baby the doctor said never would have been viable in the first place.”

Mark's eyes narrow. “How'd you...”

“You fucking dumb ass. Did you really think I wouldn't ask her when you told me about the baby she lost? Did you honestly think I wouldn't want to know? Because I knew it couldn't be a problem with her because we have four kids. I've never had a problem getting her pregnant. And all those kids arrived safe and sound. No issues whatsoever. She showed me the pathology report. It was a severe abnormality passed down through the y gene. Meaning you, asshole. It came from you. And you still fucking blamed her. You still made her think it was her goddamn fault. How fucking sick do you have to be to do that your own wife? When she's already upset that she lost a baby in the first place?!”

“Okay...okay...” Yaz claps a hand down on Tyler's shoulder. “...this is private stuff, man. This doesn't need to be brought up. No one needs to hear this.”

“He needs to hear it,” Tyler nods in Mark's direction. “Because he's been playing these fucking games for ten years now. Ten years she's held all that shit inside of her. Thinking she isn't good enough. Being told no one would ever love her because of how messed up she was. Do you remembering telling her that? Don't deny it. Don't stand here and lie to my face. Be a man. For once. Be a man and admit it. Own it. That you fucked with her head. That you made her think she'd never find anyone better than you. That's what you told her, right?”

“I admit it. I said some...things...”

“Yeah, you did. You sure fucking did, mate. You fucking broke her. And you know what, I came along and I helped put her back together. All those things you told her? About how no one would ever love her? I proved you wrong. I came along and I loved her. With everything I fucking have. Everything I am. I made her forget about you and you can't fucking stand it.”

“She's way too good for you.” Mark gives a dry laugh. “And one day she's going to wake up and wonder why the hell she wasted so many years of her life with you.”

“You keep telling yourself that, mate. Whatever helps you sleep at night. Because guess what? While you're sleeping alone? I'm sleeping next to her. With her. And you can't fucking stand the thought of it.”

“Enough!” Yaz snaps. “Both of you! Enough is enough. Now I get there's some issues. Between the two of you. I get shit is messy. Mark, you crossed a fucking line by ever showing up at Tyler's house looking for Esme. You went there to try and cause shit between them and it blew up in your face and you can't handle that. Tyler and Esme are tight. Their bond? You can't break that shit. No one can. Now, we need to all work together here. We need to get this asshole and make him pay. Can't we all agree on that? That McMann needs to go down for all the shit he's pulled? Right?” he stares pointedly at Tyler. “Right?”

Tyler nods.

“Right?” he turns his gaze to Mark and the two marines, all three nodding in confirmation. “For fuck sakes, this is not the time for shit to be falling apart. We're all working towards a common goal here. You three have your reasons for wanting McMann to suffer, and Tyler has his reasons. And it doesn't matter if I agree with how Tyler is going about things. What he does when he's left here with McMann is his business. Just like I won't give a shit what you guys do to him. But this is my boy...” he claps Tyler on the back of his neck. “...this is my brother. This stupid fuck...this ugly face...has been through more shit than the three of you together. And you know what? His stubborn ass just keeps getting back up. I saw this guy near death. Like right on its fucking doorstep. And he made death his bitch. So if you've got a problem with him, you've got a problem with me. And my sister. And our entire team.”

“We have no issues with him,” Nathan speaks up. “With either of you.”

Zak shrugs. “I've got no problems.”

“So it just you,” Yaz smirks at Mark. “Time to let shit go, man. She's not yours anymore. She's his. And he's not letting her go. Deal with.”

Mark gives a snort, then turns on his heel to stomp from the room, purposefully bumping Tyler's shoulder with his on the way out.

“What a drama queen,” Yaz shakes his head. “Why didn't you tell me you were going to knock him the fuck out? You know I wanted to see that. You know I wanted ringside seats! The fuck is wrong with you? Doing me like that?”

“Next time I'll let you know. So we can watch. Hey about what you said...”

“I said what I said. Don't go getting all little wuss bitch baby on me.”

Tyler grins. “Actually, I was going to ask if you really think my face is ugly.”

Yaz smirks. “You know you're my boy crush. Now quit riding my jock and get the fuck out of here. Go and see your wife. Spend some time with her before you go and meet McMann. You both need it. That time.”

“Yeah,” Tyler nods. “We do.”

“And I'd say wrap it before you tap it but you've proven time and time again you don't know what that means, so...”

“You're a real fucking dick, Yaz,” he laughs as he heads for the door.

“Maybe. But you love me. And you'd miss me if I was gone. Admit it, Tyler! You'd miss me!” He frowns when he receives a smirk and the middle finger in response. “Why you do me like that? Why you do your boy like that?”

He receives no answer. Just the sound of the soles of combat boots as they disappear down the hall.


	42. Chapter 42

Despite the suffocating humidity and sweltering heat, it's a relief to get out of the hotel. She'd spent the last three days confined within the four walls of their room, trying desperately to keep her mind off of not only what happened at McMann's house, but the terrifying consequences that followed. Plagued by incessant worry about the safety and well being of the kids, waiting on pins and needless for the random and all to brief updates that Ovi would send throughout the day. And now the torturous minutes and hours before the IRA would get back to them with their decision. The fates of the McMann kids...and their own...in the hands of the very kind of people that Tyler went into battle against while on the job. It's a nauseating turn of events; having to put all of your faith and hope into individuals known world wide for the brutal acts. To trust them to save lives instead of ending them.

Tanis sticks tight to her side. It was the one and only stipulation that she'd had to agree to for a short couple hours of freedom; the other woman could not leave her side, and under no circumstances was she to wander off on her own. Not even if it was only a couple feet away. There was no telling who was a threat now; with McMann and the Buckmans working together, their reach is incredibly long and they have endless resources and people at their disposal. If she wanted to get outside and attempt to function as a 'normal' member of society, she had to have protection at all times. Tanis is pleasant enough; talkative, articulate, educated on a wide variety of subjects that helps keep conversation lively and fresh. Tall and athletically built; broad shoulders and fit, well toned muscles, her blond hair cropped short to her head in a stylish and modern pixie, dazzling green eyes that are constantly taking in the people and the action around them. She doesn't carry herself with an unabashed cockiness that most Marines do; her posture is loose instead of rigid, she smiles often, she doesn't puff out of her chest in an attempt to intimate anyone that so as much looks in their direction. To the untrained eyed, they'd appear as if they were just two friends out for a day on the town; chatting and laughing, bags of shopping on their arms. But Esme knew the truth. Which the woman is really there. And she knows that there's gun tucked into a holster on Tanis' right hip, hidden under the baggy white t-shirt she sports. This is a job. Nothing more, nothing less. Once it's over, they'll each go back to their separate lives. It's the way things have to be; you don't fraternize with the client. All ties cut the moment the job is finished and money has exchanged hands. It's easier that way. No bonds formed, no feelings hurt.

Ovi is an exception to the rule. He'd needed further protection; he wasn't safe in Mumbai, not with his father in prison, Saju dead, and Asif's associates looking for payback. And most importantly, he'd needed a chance at a real life. He'd needed to know what it was like to part of a family. To have people that respect and love him. For far too long he'd gone through life being treated like a thing instead of a person, and it had been a difficult adjustment for him. Going from having 'handlers' and paid help to having parent figures and siblings. It had been a struggle for him to adapt; their rules were incredibly lax compared to those that had been placed upon him in Mumbai, but they were still things that were expected of him. And he'd struggled to go from the rigidly strict to the rather relaxed and casual. It wasn't just a chance of scenery, but an entirely different change of pace and a way of life. No private schools, no chauffeurs taking him place to place. He had set curfew but was allowed to have friends; he could go to the mall, take in a movie, hang out a park. He no longer had people hovering over him and dictating his every move. And as much as he'd hated that life...his old life, it had still been hard to not be controlled in such fashion.

It had been good to talk to him that morning. He'd sounded tired, but he was happy. Secured in his ability to keep himself, Chloe and the kids safe. There was no evidence of fear or uncertainty in his voice. The trust that Tyler had placed him had been an enormous ego boost; he was confident, resolved, with no worries about who may be following them or may try to get to the kids. He would handle it. Those were his exact words. Whatever...whoever...came their way, he wasn't the least bit afraid. A stark change from the slightly immature and self conscious kid that they'd left behind almost two weeks ago. And it was the first time since Tyler had told her that he'd put Ovi in charge of their kids that she'd felt truly confident in his decision.

“Forgive me for asking this,” Tanis says, as they wander through the main shopping district; sipping smoothies and chatting like old friends. “And I hope I don't come off to personal or sounding rude.”

“I live with five males, I have been asked an obscene amount of personal questions and pretty much heard every possible rude comment under the sun in the past five and a half years,” Esme grins. “I have two four year old's that are obsessed with fart jokes and think the word 'ass' is the funniest thing they've ever heard. Do you know what that's like? That much 'boy' in one house? I mean, my husband has enough testosterone for half the planet, I swear. Never mind adding in his three mini me's and a teenage boy.”

Tanis laughs. “My parents had all girls. I'm the last of five. I thought that was hell to grow up in.”

“Oh don't get me wrong, I would take five girls over one boy any day. My girl has been a walk in the park compared to raising boys. I mean, she's full of attitude and piss and vinegar, but she's been so easy. She picked up everything so quick and she's been always so eager to learn new things. And she's obsessed with cleanliness and tidiness. But the boys? Oh my god. How do they get pee everywhere? Are they not paying attention? Are they waving it around like firehouse? How does it get on the floor, the baseboards and the wall but none in the actual toilet? Ughhh...” she shudders. “...that's why I won't clean the bathrooms anymore. That's a man's job. So gross.”

“Sounds like there's never a dull moment at your place,” Tanis grins.

“It's a zoo. I'm not even joking. It's mess and it's noise and it's utter chaos. But at the same time, it's awesome. It's our mess and our noise and our chaos. You get used to it. And you miss it when it's gone. This last week and a half has been hell. Not being under the same roof as them. Not being able to hug them and kiss them and tuck them in at night. I complain about the craziness, but I miss it. As weird as that sounds.”

“That doesn't sound weird to me. That sounds pretty normal, actually. This will all be over. This whole nightmare. And we'll get you back home. Where you belong.”

Esme gives a smile of appreciation. The words have a nice sentiment behind them, but there's still so much that has be done. So much risk involved. And she tries to push those thoughts out of her mind. Not wanting to think about what could go wrong, but what will go right. “What did you want to ask me?” she inquires, as she sips at the smoothie in her hand. It's about all she can stomach. If that. Nothing has been staying down despite the anti nausea (and baby safe) medication a local pharmacist had recommended her. It's always been bad; fatigue and all day sickness (never mind just the morning), but it's never been this bad.

“How the hell did you ever wind up with Mark? Because he's a bit of a...”

“Douche canoe?”

“Well I was going to say prick, but douche canoe works too. I mean, he's my boss and I have to respect while on the clock and in his presence, but what the fuck is his issue? He's a total ass wipe.”

“And this is him being friendly and diplomatic if you can believe that. This is his good and charming side. Wait until you get to meet the rest of him. It's a real treat. To say the least.”

“How did you ever end up with him? You seem so...I don't know...normal...”

Esme laughs. “Don't ever let Tyler hear you say. He can tell you that I am far from normal.”

“Mark is just so...Mark...and you're just so...you. You're just both so different from one another. He treats everyone like shit and you seem so welcoming and friendly with people. I find it hard to believe that someone like you would even get mixed up with such a complete and utter tool.”

“He talked a good game when I first met him. I hadn't been in the Corps for very long. I didn't have much life experience under my belt. And suddenly this older guy showing interest in me. He was mature, charming, he had a very authoritative way about him that was strangely appealing. He was my commanding officer, so there was that whole rush you get when you know you're going against the rules and there will be hell to pay if you get caught. I was young. Inexperienced. And stupid. So very, very stupid.”

“Is it true he let a stewardess give him a blow job in the plane bathroom on the way back from your honeymoon?”

“Sadly, yes. That's one hundred percent true. I should have just dumped his ass when that happened. Got the marriage annulled. But he swore he'd never do anything like that again and it was just a 'one off' and he got all that kind of behaviour out of his system. So I believed him. Stupid little naive girl that I was.”

“So it got worse instead of better?”

'Not right away. It got better. And it stayed that way for about eight months and then he just went off the deep end. He'd gotten back from Iraq and was having a hard time with some of the things he saw and heard over there. Which, don't get me wrong. I get. That shit fucks with your head. There's even things now that still bother me. Images and sounds and smells that come back out of nowhere. But he went right off the reservation. It's like something inside him snapped and he couldn't hold back his true self any longer. I should have left right away...the first time he ever hit me...but...” she shrugs.

“People think it's so easy. That it's as simple as just packing your things and walking out. That it's not. Nothing is ever that simple.”

“You've been through it too?”

Tanis nods. “My ex husband was the exact same. He was a narcissist. And a sociopath. A violent one. I stayed for three years. I lost everything because of him. My friends, my family. They didn't understand why I didn't just walk away. I tried explaining to them that it wasn't that easy, but they didn't get it.” 

“People don't if they haven't lived through it themselves,” Esme reasons. “I used to be one of those people. Who used to judge the women for not leaving. Then I became one of those women. It woke me the hell up right quick, let me tell you. I put up with his shit for two and a half years. And in a way, I'm still putting up with that. That crap never leaves you. It stays in the back of your mind. All the horrible things they've said. All the times they've told you that weren't good enough or that no one could ever possibly love you because of how messed up you are, or that someone could never love you the way they do. You think you've gotten over it, but you haven't. It's always there.”

“And then when you do meet someone and are happy, all those come out and work against you. And you listen to them. And you believe them.”

“Exactly. It's a vicious circle. It's a horrible existence. And it takes someone really strong and really patient to help you deal with all of that.”

“You found that though,” Tanis smile. “Someone like that. You're one of the lucky ones.”

“I have put that man through hell. Or my brain has, I should say. I have snapped and said some horrible, horrible shit to him. I think about some of the things I've said to him and I want to crawl into a hole and die. Tyler has his issues, don't get me wrong. He is far from perfect. But he sure as hell doesn't deserve the things I've said to him. But he sticks around. Shockingly.”

“Because he knows that's not you saying the things you say. He knows it's what you've been through. And he loves you. Anyone can see that. It really burns Mark's ass you know,” Tanis chuckles. “Seeing the two of you together. The one the two of you look at one another. He can not handle it.”

“That's because he's such a miserable fuck, he expects everyone else to be too. Can you believe my own mother stayed friends with him? Knowing what he'd put me through? How messed up is that? She loves Mark but hates Tyler because he's the one took me away from my home and forced me stay in Australia and blah blah blah. That is her sole reasoning for not liking him. Yet Mark is a total sleaze ball who gets off on hitting women and she loves him. “

“She sounds just as messed up as Mark.”

“You think? She's a real piece of work. And now Nik is hooked with him? Of all people that I thought would be smarter than that, it's her. She is far from being a stupid woman. Or a weak one. Yet she chooses to be with him? Ughhh...” Esme shudders dramatically. “...if that isn't enough to make me puke, I don't know what is. And believe me, I don't need any extra reasons to puke. Do you have kids?”

“No. But I haven't completely ruled them out. I'm in a good place with my life right now. I've met a pretty good guy. We're taking things slow, but...”

“Zak, right?”

“How'd you...?”

“It's all in the way he looks at you. The way he watches you when you talk. That little smile he has when you walk into the room. It must be a guy thing. Maybe they're better at expressing it with their faces than they are with their words. Tyler gets so embarrassed if someone brings up 'the look'. And he tries denying its mere existence, but it's there. Whether he wants to admit it or not. He doesn't like to talk about those things. But let me just say this, he's not always a hard ass. He's got a soft side to him, and a huge heart. But whatever you do, do not tell him I told you that. He will deny, deny, deny and I'll never hear the end of it.”

“I know Mark's my boss and I should probably watch the things I say out of respect for him, but...”

“No. Speak your mind, girl. You probably don't have anything to say about him that I haven't said a million times myself.”

“...you really traded up the second time around. Like you went from here...” she holds her hand just below her waist “....to here...” she raises her hand way above her head. “...and I totally didn't mean that to represent the difference in size, but I guess it's appropriate. You went from like grade F beef to like Triple grade A.”

“The difference is night and day. In every respect. And that's what makes thing even more screwed up. Because your brain believed everything some asshole said, so you have no idea how to even let someone love you. You're so used to being treated like garbage that when a decent guy comes along, you don't know how to deal with him. You expect the worst, get the best ,and then you don't know what to do with it.”

“So you get scared and push it away,” Tanis concludes.

“Exactly. And believe me, I pushed long and hard for a while. And he refused to budge. He just tried even harder. And believe me, there were many times he could have told me to go fuck myself and taken off and he would have had every right to do it. But he never did. He's a stubborn shit, let me tell you. Which is probably why he didn't die that day on the bridge in Dhaka. Everything has be on Tyler's terms. It's your way or his way. There is no in between. He has to be in control. I guess he figured he hadn't lost all control yet so why give up?”

Tanis smiles. “Something tells me you had something to do with it to. I mean, you stuck around for a guy you barely knew.”

“Well the sex was amazing and I wasn't ready to let that go yet. I wasn't finished using him for his body yet.”

The other woman laughs at that. 

“In all honesty, I did what I dd because I wanted to. Because it felt like the right thing to do. He was in that mess because of me. Well Ovi, too. But if he hadn't have kept us around, he wouldn't have gotten out of there and not ended up as fucked up as he was. Sometimes I wonder if he regrets it. That he did decide to keep us around. If he wishes he'd listened to Nik and just left us in the street. I mean, he wouldn't have all the issues that he has now if he had have ditched us.”

“I have a feeling that he never even considered the ditching you guys part.”

“He says he didn't. That it was never an option. But I couldn't really blame him if he thought about it at least once. It's all about survival right? Self preservation? Sometimes the only person you can worry and care about is yourself.”

“It must have been hard. The aftermath. Of Dhaka.”

“It was...” she fidgets with the straw in her drink, pulling it up, pushing it back down, trying to find the appropriate words to describe exactly what it had been like. Without completely losing her grip on her own emotions. She's normally a sensitive person to begin with, but now the hormones have decided to cause havoc within her body and even the smallest of dirty looks from someone have her ready to burst into tears. Just that morning she'd had a meltdown because the mint of the hotel toothpaste was 'too strong'. 

“...hard...” she says. “It was hard. To see someone like that. All the tubes and all the wires and bandages and stitches and what not. He was a mess. He should not have survived that. Even the doctors told me when they took him to surgery when we first got there that they didn't think he'd even get off the table alive. And he almost didn't. He coded three times. They said if there had been fourth, they wouldn't even have bothered to bring him back. That the lack of oxygen would have led to a catastrophic brain injury.”

It's painful to relive it. Even more painful than those moments on the bridge when she'd fought to keep him alive. The agonizingly long wait in the OR family area; that bloody and torn tactical vest clutched tightly to her chest. The one that she'd nonsensically tried to scrub clean in one of the public bathrooms because he 'might need it again'. The doom and the gloom that had been in the surgeon's voice and in all the voices of the doctors and specialists that had come and gone through his room in the ICU. Not one of them believed he would make it. The blood loss was too severe. The damage too great. He'd never be the man he was before. Maybe not even a fraction of it. And the more they tried to prepare her to say goodbye, the tighter she held on.

“And I know that sounds weird because I'd just met him and there's no way I should have ever felt that strongly about him so soon...” she continues. “...but I can't explain it. I can't explain what I felt. I just know I felt it. And I wasn't ready to let him go. We had too much to look forward to. Plans we made. We were legitimately going to work at things and see where we really stood in each others lives. If there was more to it than those five days in Dhaka. But we never got the chance. It didn't go the way we wanted it to.”

“But things worked out,” Tanis reasons. “In the long run. It might have been what you had planned, but they still worked out. Look how far you guys have come. From that day until now.”

“Yeah, he's still trying to solve everyone else's problems and getting hurt doing it.”

“I don't mean in that way. As in the job. He made it out of that hospital. Even when all logic and even science said he shouldn't. He survived that and now look. You're married, you've got amazing kids, one on the way...” she gives a smile, and pats Esme on the tummy. “...it's a great life. Even if doesn't seem that way sometimes.”

“Yeah. It is actually,” she agrees, and then smiles as she lays her own hand on her stomach. It will be a while before her body starts to visibly change. She'd been nearly twenty weeks before even the slightest bit of a bump began to show with Millie. The twins had shown earlier, obviously. And Declan had just been enormous right from the start. He was easily going to be over six feet tall by the time he hit his teen years, and probably built like a linebacker.

“Last one?” Tanis asked, nodding down at Esme's stomach.

“Oh hell yeah. This is it. I thought we were done at three. At least we agreed to stop at three. After the twins, we were done. That was it. Declan was a complete and total shock. We were actually using birth control and that kid still made his appearance. So if anything was meant to be, it's him. And then we decided why not one more , and well, it happened a lot sooner than we thought it would, but it happened.”

“I like to think things like this happen for a reason,” Tanis says. “Everything says that your Declan shouldn't be here. In the same way that doctors and science and all rational logic say hat Tyler shouldn't be here. But they both are.”

“When you put it that way, maybe I should play the lottery. With those kinds of odds running in my house,” Esme muses. “I know how lucky I am. That Tyler even survived. I saw how bad he was; the amount of blood he lost. He honestly probably should have never made it off the bridge alive. And sometimes I think it take it for granted that he did. That I take him for granted. I'm just so used to him being around that I sometimes forget how close it came to him not being around.”

“I think we're all guilty of that. Taking the people in our lives with granted. Their presence for granted.”

“Makes me feel like a shitty human when I think about it. All the times where he's annoyed the shit out of me and wish he would go away and leave me alone. What if I wished those things and it happened? What if the last words I ever said to him were awful? If I actually let him walk out the door without telling him I love him. Imagine having to spend the rest of your life with that kind of guilt?”

“It's why we can't let a day go by without telling people how we feel about them,” Tanis says. “We have to live each day with someone as if it's the last we'll ever spend with them”

****

She's startled to see him when she arrives back at the hotel; there are still two hours before his meeting with McMann and he hadn't planned on returning until after it was over. So it's a nice surprise...and a huge relief...to see him there lounging in the middle of the middle. Leaning back against the headboard with those long legs stretched out in front of him, his hand clasped at the back of his neck, his eyes closed. He doesn't respond to the sound of the door opening and closing; not a single muscle twitching throughout his body or in his face. Chest slowly rising and falling with each steady breath he takes. And she ditches her shopping bags and purse in the closet by the door and kicks off her shoes, bare feet against the soft carpet as she wanders further into the room. The mattress dipping slightly as she climbs onto it, shuffling on her knees towards him and then climbing into his lap, a knee on either side of him, arms around his torso and head resting on his shoulder. She closes her own eyes; he's warm and soothing, his body hard and strong, his familiar scent still intoxicating after all these years.. And when she sighs against him he finally moves; turning his face towards hers and pressing a kiss to her forehead, both arms wrapping around her.

“Hi,” she says, voice muffled against the side of his neck.

'Hi.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I'm staying in this room too,” he playfully reminds her.

“You weren't supposed to be back until later.”

“Well I came back early.”

“Why?”

“Because I missed you and wanted to see you.”

He can feel her smile against his throat. “That's a very good reason,” she declares, a places a kiss to the scar that mars his neck; the one that will forever serve as a reminder to just how close he'd come to ceasing to exist.

“The best reason,” he says, his palm moving in slow, smooth circles in the middle of her back. “Did you eat something?” He can't help himself; his protective nature is coming out in full force. It's bad enough when it's just her he's worrying about and trying to keep safe, but now there's a baby inside of her and he has twice as much to lose. 

“A little bit. What your spawn will let me keep me down.”

“When we get home and we get you into a doctor you can go on that medicine you were on the last time. It helped, yeah? You didn't puke that much with Declan.”

“It was a life saver,” she confirms. “You smell good.”

“You wouldn't have said that a half an hour ago, trust me.”

“Even on your worst days you don't smell that bad. I kind of like how you smell. Even on your stinky days.”

“You smell good too...” he turns his face towards her, nose against her temple. “...strawberries?”

“Your favourite.”

“Yeah...” he grins. “...they are.”

She relaxes against him; the curves of her body soft and supple against firm muscle. She keeps her eyes closed; unable to look at that scar for too long. Normally it doesn't bother her; it serves as a daily reminder that he is still alive and she is lucky to have him. But today it hurts; it cuts deep and vicious and she can't bear it. 

“Where were you when you called?” she asks. “Your cell reception sucked.”

“That's why I hung up and sent you a text message instead.”

“Where were you?”

“Just had a team meeting. With Yaz, Mark, and his guys. In an industrial park about ten minutes from town. We didn't want to take the chance that the wrong people saw us all together.”

“Makes sense.”

“Did Mark call you?” 

She hears the tension in his voice, feels the way his muscles tighten, how that vein in the side of his throat begins to pulsate. “No. Why? Should he have called?”

“I thought maybe he would. To rat on me. We sort of got into a thing.”

“Yeah?” she runs her fingernails along his hair line at the nape of his neck. “Did you finally beat his ass?”

“Not as much as I would have liked to, no. I think I broke his nose though.”

“Well considering you could have broken his neck, a broken nose is pretty tame. What did you get into it about?”

“What do you think?”

“Awww baby....” she pushes her hand through his hair; letting the longer strands on top slip between her fingers. “...were you defending my honour? My knight in slightly tarnished armour.”

“I said some things I probably shouldn't have said. But I fucking snapped and it all just came out. He's just so fucking ignorant and smug and everyone thinks he's this great guy. Which makes me hate him even more. So I lost it. Said some shit I shouldn't have said in front of other people. About you and him.”

“I'm sure whatever you said, he had it coming. So...”

“It wasn't my place to say those things. About you. I should have just kept my fucking mouth shut. But he just pissed me so bad and...”

“Tyler...” she pulls back to look at him, holding his face in her hands. “...I don't care what you said. It's things that should have been said a long time ago, I'm sure. It's probably things he needed to hear. And if you just so happened to punch him in the face while saying those things...”

“It was an elbow, actually.”

“I'm not going to be upset at you for sticking up for me. Everything I told you about him...about all the things he did...it was all true. So I don't mind those words being out in the open now. Maybe now that someone has finally brought them up and holding him accountable for his shit, he'll straighten himself out. You know he's seeing Nik right?”

“Yeah, I heard.”

“It doesn't bother you?”

“I think she can do a hell of a lot better.”

“You don't think it's weird that my ex is doing whatever with your ex?”

“She is not my ex.”

“Well maybe not an ex girlfriend, but she's an ex something.”

“Putting it that way means I have a lot of exes out there.”

“You dirty boy,” she winks at him. “No wonder you know how to do things you do. You have lot of practice under your belt. All those different women in all those different cities. Do you have a score sheet somewhere?”

“It's not that many. But hey, a man has needs, so...” he shrugs.

“I guess you don't like studying alone that much after all,” she teases, and he gives a scowl and then wraps one arm around waist, lifts her into his chest and then dumps her onto her back in the middle of the bed. “Is this where you punish me?” she inquires, as he kneels between her thighs and leans over her, a hand on either side of her head, outstretched arms bearing his weight. “Is there where I get in trouble for being a smart ass?”

Tyler shakes his head, then places a chaste kiss to her lips before sliding down the bed; fingertips gentle as he pulls up the bottom of her t-shirt, pushes down the waistband of her shorts and then presses his lips to her stomach. Where their baby...his baby...is safe and secure. And it's a moment that is so pure and so beautiful...a moment of vulnerability from such a big, strong, brave man...that it brings tears to her eyes. 

“Baby...” she reaches down to push his hair out of his eyes. “...are you okay?”

He nods. 

“You don't seem...I don't know...you.”

“I'm fine,” he assures her, giving her that that half frown, half smile that reveals that he is in fact, not fine at all. And his hands are on her hips as he rests his forehead against her stomach. 

“Tyler...” she tugs at his hair, forcing him to look up at her. “...what's going on? And don't say nothing. Because I can tell there's something happening inside that brain of yours.”

He attempts another smile. This one a little brighter and reassuring. “You know how I get. Right before shit's about to go down.”

“No. This isn't that. You don't act like this. You're quiet and sullen and broody when you're going into a job. This is different. You're different.”

“I love you,” he says. “So much. I need you to know that.”

“Tyler...” she frowns. “...what is going on?”

“Say it,” he pleads. “I need to hear you say it.”

“I love you too. You know I do. Tell me what's wrong. I can tell something is wrong.”

“I just wanted you to know that. That I love you. You know, just in case.”

“Don't talk like that. Please. I don't want to hear you talk like that.”

“There's something I need to do. Something I can't tell you about. It's better that you don't know. I need you to trust me. That what I'm going to do, I'm doing for you. And the baby. For our kids. I don't want you to ask me about it. Because I can't tell you. It's for your own good. And for mine.”

“Tyler...what...?”

“Just trust me, okay? I need you to trust me. That this is the way things have to be done. I wouldn't do it unless it needed to be done. Just know that it's for you and my kids.”

“You're scaring me. What's going on?”

“I can't tell you. I'm sorry. I want to tell you. But I can't. I'm so sorry, Esme.”

She see the tears that well in his eyes, hears the emotion that causes his voice to crack. “You're going to be okay, right? At least tell me you're going to be okay.”

“I'll be okay,” he promises, pressing one last kiss to her stomach before moving up the bed, once more kneeling between her thighs as he takes her face her hands and kisses her. Long and soft. Heart breakingly sweet. “I'll be okay.”


	43. Chapter 43

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: marital angst

“I really wish you'd change your mind,” Esme says, as she lies on her stomach in the middle of the rumpled bed, clad in one of his t-shirts, elbows propped on the mattress and her chin resting in on her clasped hands. Watching as he steps into a fresh pair of jeans; hair still damp from the shower he'd taken following their love making; it had been intense and passionate, a hint of desperation in every kiss, touch, and thrust. And afterwards she'd clung to him; arms and legs wrapped tightly around his body, anxious to keep him right where he was. Where he was warm and safe and she could rest comfortably not only in his arms, feeling his heart beating against hers, the way his chest rose and fell with each steady breath. “About me coming with you.”

“We talked about this,” Tyler reminds her, as he tends to the zipper and button and buckles his belt. “About why I don't want you there.”

“You think you'll be too distracted because you'll spend the whole time worrying about me.”

“I don't think I will be. I know I will be.”

“You weren't distracted when we were working together in Dhaka,” she points out.

“A lot of things have changed since Dhaka,” Tyler counters.

“You were just fucking me back then. Now you're married to me, fucking me, and putting babies in me.”

He frowns.

“That was meant as a joke, Tyler. It was a horrible one, I admit. But it was still a joke. I could wait outside.”

“No. You can't.”

“I could be across the street, just keeping an eye on things, making sure you come out safe.”

“There's lot of people keeping their eyes on things. We don't need your eyes there, too.”

“I don't have to be right there, you know. I don't have to be right in the vicinity. I could be around the corner or a block away...” she tries again. 

“Esme...I said no,” he tugs a black t-shirt over his head. “We talked about it, I told you why it wasn't a good idea, you were fine with that. Drop it.”

“I was fine at the time. But now there's an hour to go and I'm not so fine anymore. This isn't a one way street, you know. You're not the only person that's worried about something going wrong. I'm just as worried about you as you are about me. You think I want you to be doing this? You think I'm okay with you going to meet this asshole? I'd rather you just leave it to someone else.”

He sighs, then grabs his boots from the hall closet and sits down on the edge of the bed. “There is no one else.”

“There is always someone else. Are you telling me that there's one person that's capable of just grabbing him and holding onto him until the IRA make up their mind? That you're the only one who can get the job done? Get one of Mark's people to do it. It doesn't have to be you.”

“Yes, it does. I'm the one he wants dead, yeah? I'm the one that called him to meet? He isn't going to show up for anyone else...so...” his patience is running thin, temper already on a slow boil, and he angrily shoves a foot into one of the boots.

“I just don't want you going into this alone,” she says. “Someone should be with you.”

“Someone will be. Let it go.”

“Someone will be across the street and in the back alley. They're not going to be with you, with you. Why can't someone sit in the bar, at a different table, keeping an eye on things?”

“Because even the smallest fuck up could tip McMann off and then everything will be blown to shit. I can't believe I have to tell you this. You've done this before. The job. You know how things work.”

“And what are you going to do with him once you get him? That's the part I don't understand? Where do you take him? If you've got to hold him until the IRA makes up their mind...”  
“Mark's in charge of that,” he lies. “Once I get him, Mark and his boys are going to take things from there. I'm just there to lure him in. That's it.”

“What are they going to do with him?”

Tyler shrugs. 

“So you're just going to hand him over and you have no idea what they're going to do with him?”

“I didn't ask. It's not my fucking business. I don't care what they do with him.”

“I mean, they have to keep him somewhere. What are they going to do? Tie him and leave him in a locker or something?” she laughs at the mere mention of it, and he feels his entire body tense. “Don't you remember that show? We watched it together. About the guy that kept the girl in the Plexiglas box in his store basement? And the second season he used one of those storage lockers? His name was John or Jeff or Joe or something like that.”

“Maybe...I don't know...it sounds familiar,” his hands are gripping the laces way too tight; the fabric biting into his fingers. 

“Joe,” she concludes. “It was Joe. Are they going to do something like that? Where else are they going to keep him? You can't keep him out in plain sight. Or in a hotel. That would draw way too much attention. Why don't they just go and drop him in the middle of IRA territory and leave him there? Save everyone the trouble.”

“I don't know, okay? I don't know what they're putting him or what they're planning to do with him and I honestly don't give a fuck. So can you just...please....stop talking about it.”

“You'd think they'd at least tell you. You're the one responsible for him. If the IRA says yes, you're the one that has to pass him over. What if one of these Marines goes batshit crazy over his dead buddy and kills him? Then you're fucked. And not the good kind of fucked, either.”

“It won't happen. They won't kill him.”

“Revenge is a powerful motivator,” she reasons. “I wouldn't blame them if they did. Or if you did.”

“No one is going to kill him. That's up to the IRA.”

“What if they don't want him?”

“I'll worry about it then. What the fuck with the twenty questions? Did I not just tell you to stop talking about this? Would you cut me slack here? Could you just shut the fuck up for five seconds? Jesus Christ.”

She frowns. “What the hell is your problem? One minute you're sweet and loving and worshipping me and then you're biting my head off. I get your stressed. I get there's a lot riding on this. That you're worried about the kids and Ovi and Chloe. But they're my kids too, you know.”

“No. I don't know that. I don't remember fucking you and putting those kids in you. I don't remember being there when they were born. I have no idea who you are. I've never seen you before.”

“What the hell is going on, Tyler? How can you change so drastically? Half an hour ago we were making love and everything coming out of your mouth was beautiful and amazing and now you're talking like this to me? What is going on?”

“Nothing. Nothing is going on. I'm just a little on edge.”

“You think? You've been a complete fucking prick since you got out of the shower. I know you're on edge. I get that. This is huge. And a lot of things are riding on this. But I'm not the enemy here, Tyler. I'm not one of the bad people. So don't talk to me like I'm some garbage in the street.”

“I'm not...” he snaps, then takes a deep breath and releases is slowly, attempting to compose himself. “... I'm not talking to you like that.”

“Okay so maybe you're not talking to me like garbage in the street. Maybe you're talking to me like you used to talk to all the different whores you were fucking before I came along. I'm not your whore, Tyler. I'm your wife.”

“Esme, stop. Before you say something that you're going to regret. Before you say something that you're not going to be able to take back. Enough of this shit. Enough of the questions, enough with picking fights, enough with deliberately trying to piss me off. Just enough.”

“For the record, you started this,” she informs him, as she switches positions on the bed, angrily beating her fist against one of the pillows and then slamming it down onto the mattress before lying down on her side, back towards him. “You've been acting like a total asshole since you got out of the shower. I understand you're stressed. I do. But I'm fucking stressed too. And I'm the one that has to keep another human being alive inside of her. Which by the way, is your goddamn fault.”

Sighing heavily, Tyler runs his hands over his weary face and glances over his shoulder at his wife. He wants to tell her. Desperately. He wants to confess all of the sins that haven't been committed yet. He wants to ask for forgiveness for becoming the person he'd said he'd never become; the one consumed by rage, driven by the need for revenge, with no remorse or compassion for the actions he's about to take. But he can't. He can't do that to her. Not right now. Not when she's the most vulnerable; a baby inside of her, his baby. When she's already so stressed and so worried about their other kids. When she's already consumed with fear surrounding what could go wrong when he goes to meet Michael McMann. He can't add anything more to her plate. He can't burden her with his problems. She doesn't need to know. What his true plans are. The truth would only scare her. And the last thing he wants is for her to be afraid of him.

****

“Babe...” he reaches for her, and she yanks her leg away as his fingertips come in contact with her thigh. “...I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you. I didn't mean to treat you like that. Talk to you like that. I'm sorry.”

“Go away,” she sniffles. “Leave me alone. Go and do whatever stupid shit you're going to do. It's what you'll do anyway. It doesn't matter what I say or how much I worry about you. I can't save you, Tyler. Not when you're so hell bent on killing yourself.”

“That's not who I am anymore. I haven't been that person in five and a half years. You know that.”

“Nothing's changed. You said it would change. You said you would change. When we separated and I asked you to come back. Because I missed you and your kids missed you. You told me this would change. This life. When is it going to happen? Why does this change kick in? Because I'm still waiting.”

“I told you. After this, I'm done. I'm taking that job Nik offered. I won't have to do this anymore. At least not at this kind of pace. I'll be home more. With you and the kids. We'll be a family. A proper family.”

“I can't keep doing this. Living like this. I shouldn't have to feel like a single mother.”

“No,” he admits. “You shouldn't. And I fucking hate that you do.”

“We're having another baby. This will be number five. Five under six. I can't do this by myself. I just can't. I need you home. I've needed you home since the twins were born. Tanner was barely out of the hospital...after being sick for almost two months and near death twice...and you still went back to the job. I had three kids under two, I had severe postpartum depression and I wanted to kill myself and you still took a job. When I needed you the most.”

“We needed the money,” the excuse sounds feeble to his own ears. “We had all those bills from the hospital and all the other normal crap like a mortgage and utilities and all that shit. I had to keep a roof over you and our kids' heads. Food on the table. That wasn't going to happen unless I took a job. What did you want me to do? Let you guys starve? Move back in with your parents? Fuck that. I wasn't letting you or my kids live like that. So I'm sorry. That I did what I had to do for my family.”

“And what would have happened if you'd been killed? If you'd never come home? We would have lost everything anyway and the kids and I still would have ended up at my parents. So that argument is bullshit and you know it. I love you. So much it hurts sometimes. But don't pretend you haven't made some shitty fucking decisions.”

“I didn't make those decisions to hurt you. I made them because I felt it was what I needed to do. For you. For our kids. Do I feel like shit making them? Of course I do. Do I fucking hate myself for feeling like I abandoned you when you needed me the most? Every fucking day. But I do the things I do because I love you.”

“You should love me enough not to do them,” she counters. “When does it stop, Tyler? When do you say enough is enough? When do you finally put your family first?”  
“Like I said,” he turns sideways on the bed, a hand on her hip, softly stroking it through the fabric of the t-shirt. “After this is over, I'm taking that job with Nik and things will change. I'll change.”

“Will you? Is that job going to be enough for you? How long will it be before you start to get the itch to get back into the game again? Six months? A year? Two years?”

“I won't be going back. Once I take this job, that's it. I'm done. For good.”

“I hope so,” she says. “Because I don't know if I can do this anymore.”

He has no idea what to say. If she even wants him to say anything. So he remains silent; his hand rubbing her, giving it a squeeze before sliding around to her stomach. Where that new life is growing inside of her. And she sniffles noisily and lays her hand over his; the white gold of their wedding bands pressed together.

“I love you, Tyler. But the time is going to come where I need to love myself more. Where I need to love our kids more,” she speaks through tears now, her entire body trembling. 

He stretches out behind her on the bed, on his hand, hand still on her stomach, and he slides his other arm between her and the pillow. Allowing her head to nestle in the crook of his elbow. “I love you,” he says, and places a kiss on her temple. “And I'm sorry if I ever made you feel like I didn't.”

“I've never felt that you didn't. I've never doubted it. But that doesn't mean I wasn't hurt by some of the things you've done. Some of the the things you've said. And I know I've hurt you too. And I'll never forgive myself for that.”

“Babe, don't to this. Don't do this to yourself. We've both fucked up. We've been said things we never should have said. But things could be so much worse. We could be so much worse.”

“Things need to change. We need to change. Both of us. This isn't all on you so please don't think I'm placing all the blame on you.”

“Most of it should be placed on me,” he admits. “Most of it is my fault.”

“I don't want this breaking us. The job. I thought I could handle it. I thought I was okay with you being involved still. But I'm not. And it's not fair to you to keep pretending I am. And if you'd rather the job me and the kids...”

He scowls. “That's not what I want. That's the last thing I want and you know it. I don't want to lose you. Or my kids. This is it. The last job. Once it's over, I take what Nik offered me and we go on with our lives.”

“I can't keep watching you walk out the front door and then spending the entire time you're gone wondering if you're going to walk back in it. Because every time you leave, you take a piece of my heart with you. And I'm worried I'll never get those pieces back.”

He presses his lips against the back of her head, tightens the grip on her hand as it rests on her stomach. “It's going to be okay,” he vows. “Things will change. I'll change. I promise.”

She sniffles noisily. “It's not just you that needs to change.”

“It's mostly be. And it doesn't hurt to hear it or admit it. It's the truth. I've been a shitty husband.”

“No. You haven't. You've had shitty moments. Just like I've had shitty moments as a wife.”

“More good than shitty though,” he assures her, and she presses a kiss to the inside of his forearm.

“I don't want to let you go,” she says. “But if this continues...this life...I'll have to. Because our kids deserve better. I deserve better. And so do you. If this kind of life you want, than you need to find someone that is far more accepting than I am.”

“I don't want to find anyone else. I want you. Only you.”

*****

For several minutes neither of them speak. The brutal honesty and the severity of the situation hanging heavily in the air. Their hands tightly clasped together, their eyes closed. He's known; that things weren't great. That despite the supportive and understanding front she puts forth, part of her hates what he does. That there's a linger animosity and bitterness just below the surface. 

“I'm hormonal as fuck,” she suddenly complains, and he can't help but chuckle. “I'm sorry. For being so irrational.”

“You weren't irrational. You were truthful. It was things I needed to hear. And I am sorry. For making you feel like you're a single mum sometimes. For making you feel like I don't appreciate you or that I take you for granted. Because I do. Appreciate you. You're the one that's holding everything together most of the time.”

“I'm tired,” she admits. “Physically and mentally. I just want to go home. I want to go home and get our kids back and have a normal life. Well, somewhat of a normal life. Whatever normal is for us, I guess.”

“Babe, I love you, but there's nothing normal about you.”

“Dick,” she mutters, and directs an elbow at his stomach. 

“Who wants normal anyway? Normal is boring. I'll take slightly unhinged and moody as fuck any day of the week over normal.”

“You shouldn't talk about yourself like that. You're stubborn and temperamental, but I wouldn't go as far as calling you unhinged or moody as fuck.”

He grins. “Now who's being a dick?”

She rolls over onto her back, and he slides his arm out from underneath the back of her head and uses his index and middle finger to clear the remnants of tears off her cheeks. 

“I hate that,” he says. “Seeing you cry. It fucking breaks me every time.”

“It's the hormones. They've always been bad but they've never been this bad. Must be a boy.”

“You were never this bad with any of the boys, so nice try.”

“You think I was worse with Millie?”

“Way worse. Way, way, way worse. I thought it was normal, until you were having the twins and I realized just how bad you were the first time.”

“The twins were brutal in a different way though. Health wise.”

“Yeah, those blokes have been causing nothing but trouble from the very start. Second they were conceived they started their shit. And they're still carrying on.”

“Don't act like it isn't your greatest accomplishment. You wanted a son and you ended up with two at the same time. You were so goddamn proud of yourself after we found out it was twins. Walking around with that goofy ass grin you get, bragging to everyone that you managed to put two babies in me. Like it was something modern day miracle.”

“Well, it kind of was. Considering less than two years before I nearly died. They shouldn't even be here. I shouldn't even be here.”

“Well, for what it's worth, I'm glad you are. Even if I'm a total bitch sometimes.”

“Sometimes?”

“Fuck you, Tyler,” she laughs. “I can, and I will, kill you in your sleep.”

“I'd like to see you try. You know I wake up if a mouse farts, so how would you manage to get one up on me? And besides,” his hand settles on her stomach once again, the tip of his nose pressed against her temple. “You wouldn't kill me. You'd miss me too much.”

“Yeah, I would. When you manage to find awesome dick you have to hold onto it.”

“I guess I better keep up on my skills so you don't have a reason to kill me. Or you don't run off and find someone else who can dick you down better.”

“Oh please. There is no one out there that can dick me down better than you can. If there's one thing you're exceptional at...”

“Just one thing?”

“Okay...” she grins. “....there's a couple things.”

He rubs the tip of his nose against her ear, kisses her temple. “I still think it's a girl,” he says.

“Because of this dream you had?”

Tyler nods.

“Must have been a hell of a dream if you're still talking about it three days later.”

“It felt so...I don't know...real. Like it was actually happening. I could hear the waves and the kids laughing. I could smell the ocean and feel the sand between my toes. And we had another baby. A girl. She looked just like you. She was tiny and had dark hair and huge brown eyes. It was so real, babe. Like it was a sign.”

“We were in Australia?”

“Yep. At the beach we always used to go to. Remember the first time we took Millie? How much she loved it? She was just tiny then. Like just freshly hatched.”

“She was two weeks old. I was tired of being stuck in the apartment so we took her to the beach. So I wouldn't lose any more of my sanity.”

“You didn't have much left to lose. You barely had any when we met.”

“Which would explain why I ever let you seduce me in the first place,” she retorts. “Baby, it's so cute how you keep trying to get one up on me. But I'm too quick for you. You think you'd have learned that after five and a half years.”

“One day,” he vows. “It'll happen one day.”

“And the sky will open and the angels will sing,” she teases, and places a kiss on the corner of his mouth. “I remember you wading out into the water with her. It was so cute. You had her so tight against your chest and she was so tiny and you were big and strong and it was honestly the sweetest thing to see. She had you wrapped around her finger even then. She's a daddy's girl, through and through.”

“You're still salty about that?”

“No. It's beautiful, actually. Seeing this big, tough guy with his little girl. It's a side of you I never expected to see. You have these two very distinct sides to you. You've got the job Tyler and you've got daddy Tyler. They're just so different yet so similar at the same time. I can't explain it. I just know I like it. Being able to see all the different sides of you while everyone else just gets to see one.”

“Some people would say that it makes me soft. Having that other side.”

“If that isn't some Gaspar shit, I don't know what is.”

“He was a good friend. Until he wasn't.” 

It was the first time in his life that someone had wounded him that badly. When someone he'd put all of his trust and his faith in had turned around and betrayed him. A mixture of rage, disbelief, and hurt flooding through him the second Gaspar had revealed his friendship with Asif. That he'd gone to him and arranged a deal. Ten million dollars they'd split if Tyler would give up the kid and the girl. 

That was never going to happen.

He's never told her. That the deal had been for Ovi and her. Some things are just better left unspoken.

“I didn't even know him that well and I hate him,” she says. “For what he did to you. For betraying you like that. He tried to kill you. And you were his friend. He was going to kill you to get to Ovi. That is messed up.”

“Money is a powerful motivator,” Tyler reasons. 

“You saved his life. And that's how he repays you? Trying to take yours? That's fucked up. Is it wrong that I'm actually glad that Ovi killed him?”

“No, babe. That's not wrong.” Because Gaspar would have killed Ovi and you, he thinks, and he squeezes his eyes shut in a vain attempt to push the memory away. There was even the chance that Gaspar would have handed her over to Asif alive. And those results would have been far worse than a quick death.

“He was a true mercenary,” she says. “In every sense of the word. He fit the stereotype. Cold. Ruthless. Vicious. That's what most of them are like. Or least the ones that I worked with in the past. You're different. You've always been different. You've always been...I don't know...human.”

“Yeah, well I've done some pretty ruthless and vicious things. So...”

“Because you had to. Not because you get some kind of sick, perverse pleasure out of it. Some of these guys enjoy killing people. They practically get off on it. Gaspar was like that. He didn't even have to open his mouth and you could just tell. It's in the eyes. Always in the eyes. Your eyes have never been that way. That's where all your emotions are. Your eyes.”

“If you even bring up how people say I have 'the look' when it comes to you...”

She laughs. “Deny it all you want, Tyler. It's there. Everyone notices it. It's there whether you like it or not. Even Tanis mentioned it today.”

“Bullshit.”

“She did!” Esme insists. “I would not lie about that. She was talking about the guy she's seeing....”

“That Zak bloke?”

“How'd you know about that?”

“He doesn't shut the fuck up about her. Every time we'd stop talking about the job, he'd get on this kick about her. I wanted to strangle him. Tell him it's a trap. Don't fall for it, mate. Because they'll get their claws into you and you won't stand a chance.”

“Speaking from experience?”

He pecks her lips. “Obviously.”

“She seems pretty crazy about him. And he seems like a nice enough guy. She had an ex like mine. It's really screwed her up. The same way it's screwed me up. I told her that it's going to take some time. To get over it. And that sometimes you never do. I'm still dealing with it and it's been ten years. But it's a lot easier to deal with it when you don't have to deal with it alone.”

“I got you, babe. You know that. I got you.”

She smiles and kisses him. Long and soft. “You are a man among men, Tyler Rake.”

“There ain't no other men like me.”

“You can say that again. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing...”

“Good thing for you. Bad thing for the other women out there. You get me all to yourself.”

“Oh joy! I get the dirty laundry on the bedroom floor and the stinky gym socks and you're even stinkier boots. Speaking of which,” she glances down towards the end of the bed. “Do you actually have the fucking gall to lie in bed with those things on? What is wrong with you? Do you know where those things have been?”

“Up a few asses. They're clean. It'd be worse if they were the same pair I wore in the sewer in Dhaka.”

“Oh God...” she makes a dramatic gagging noise. “...just thinking about that...”

“I wonder what happened to those boots. Those were my favourite pair.”

“I threw them out. Along with all your other shit they gave me at the hospital. There was no saving them. They were beyond saving. I'm sorry.”

“Nothing a little soap and water couldn't have fixed.”

“Oh yeah right. They flat lined. I couldn't bring them back to life. Despite my best efforts. You should have burned them the second we got out of that sewer. Oh God...” she gags again. “...now I can smell it again. It's like it's permanently etched into my sinuses. How does it not bother you? Do you not remember what that smelled like?”

“Yeah, it smelled like ass. A million asses, actually.”

“And the rats...the sound of them....” she shudders. “How we didn't end up with cholera or the plague, I will never know. We should have thrown Gaspar down there. He would have fit right in with the vermin. I swear it took me a week to get that smell out of my hair. You should have seen the way the nurses and the doctors looked at me. They probably could smell it.”

“It was not that bad.”

“Like shit it wasn't. You were even gagging and retching. So it was that bad. Remind me to never again follow you into a dark, smelly place. That's twice now. First the smelliest sewer on the planet, then the dead body in McMann's bunker thing. I am never...ever...letting you talk me into something like that again. Because I will puke on you and I won't feel even the slightest bit of remorse.”

“That's evil. The small ones really are the most vicious.”

“They're the ones that keep the giants like you in line.”

He grins. “I just let think you're keeping me in line.”

She snorts. “Whatever helps you sleep at night. We all know who runs the show.”

“Me.”

“You wish!”

“You're five foot nothing and you weight a buck twenty soaking wet and you really think you can be the boss?”

“I'm five foot two and three quarters, actually. And I weigh a buck twenty three, I'll have you know.”

“I have a foot and a quarter on you and about ninety pounds. If not more. And you think you run things?”

“Listen buddy, I don't think it. I know it. I have the ultimate weapon to use against you. And I will use it. So don't tempt me.”

“You're going to knee me in the balls? Or should I say head butt because you're so goddamn short. You're like an angry goat. Gonna head butt me in the nuts.”

“An angry goat?” she laughs. “Did you seriously just call me an angry goat?”

“I was going to call you a hobbit but you love that movie and you'd take it as a compliment, so....”

“You're a goddamn Sasquatch and you have the nerve to call me an angry goat? You have the biggest feet I've ever seen...which you've passed on to your kids, thank you very much...and you're built like the Jolly Green Giant. Yet you have the balls to make fun of my height?”

“Listen, just because you need a step ladder to get up onto the bed, don't take your short people rage out on me.”

“You're a fucking dick,” she's laughing as she says it, and he lays his hand on her stomach and leans in to kiss her. Longer this time. But tender and sweet. Then he checks his watch and frowns.

“You gotta go,” she sighs.

“I gotta go.”

“Be careful. Please. Because despite all of our issues, I'd really like you to come back in one piece. So if you could do that for me...”

“I'll be back,” he assures, and places a kiss on her forehead. “Everything's going to be okay. It's all going to go as planned. Trust me.”

“I do. Trust you.” She lays a hand on the side of his face as he kisses her one last time before climbing off the bed. And she pushes herself up onto her elbows and watches as he gathers the last of his things; car keys, wallet, both cell phone and SAT. Then slides the holster -already loaded with the Glock- onto the waist band of his jeans. “You're kinda sexy, you know. When you're heading out to kick some ass.”

“I'm only sexy when I'm going to kick some ass?”

“No. You're sexy all the time. But you're exceptionally sexy when you're going to hand someone their ass. Please be careful, Tyler.”

“I will be. Get some rest, okay? I know you're worried about me, but you need to take it easy. And try to eat something. That baby needs her momma to be healthy.”

“Already calling it her, huh? That must have been some dream. Don't trust him. Not even for one second. If he even gets the slightest chance to hurt you...”

“He won't. He won't stand a chance,” he opens the hotel room door, then pauses before stepping out in the hallway, turning to give her a small, reassuring smile. “I'll see you when I see you.”

“Hopefully sooner rather than later,”

He nods in agreement, then steps out into the hall and shuts the door behind him.


	44. Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: BRIEF MENTION OF DRUG USE, DarkTyler

He arrives fifteen minutes before the arranged meeting with McMann; knocking twice on the backdoor of the Slainte pub. His eyes methodically observe every inch of the cluttered and dirty alley; slowly travelling back and forth between both ends, checking for any movement within the alcoves of the rear entrances of other establishments, skirting under the bottoms of dumpsters (a perfect hiding spot for someone lying in wait), glancing up at the various fire escapes and windows. When Billy Flynn had offered up the use of his bar, Tyler had been skeptical; would McMann really be willing to meet in a place that was widely known to be owned by a member of the IRA? After all, he'd burned many a bridge within the organization and he knew they were out to get him. You didn't fuck with the IRA; once you were branded a trouble maker, you remained forever on their shit list. Their resources are fast and stretch all over the globe; money, weapons, hired gun. Far more powerful and influential than most realize. McMann had every right not to agree with meeting him there. As far as he knew, there could be dozens of guys just waiting for the chance to take a shot at him. But Tyler had reassured him that the last thing he'd wanted was to stir up trouble; it was safer for both of them if they met somewhere public. Where neither of them could get the drop on each other.

“You're fucking late!” Flynn admonishes, shoving open the heavy metal door. “What the hell, man?”

“Something came up. I had to take care of it. Were my guys here? Setting up the tech?”

“Left about half an hour ago. That one lad is quite the trip. The one who thinks he's the boss but is just a right old shit head. Bossing everyone around, thinking he can talk to me like one of his sheep. Fuck that. He's got the wrong man if he thinks I'm putting up with that shit.”

Tyler smirks. “That's my wife's ex husband.”

“Get the fuck out, for real? What did she ever see in him? He's a right wanker. And I'd like say she traded up when she went from him to you, but you're not exactly a prize yourself with that weird hair thing you've got going on for ya.”

Flynn leads the way through the kitchen, and Tyler gives a small smile and a polite nod to the only two staff members Flynn had called in; a short order cook and a waitress. He'd promised they were loyal and reliable; no loose lips that would run to the authorities or even spread stories out in the community. Their silence was expected, and if it wasn't received, there would be harsh consequences.

“Did you tell him?” Flynn asks, as he pushes his way through the swinging door that leads out into the main area of the bar. “To go to the backdoor? The last thing I need is some of the other boys seeing him on his way in here and ending things before they start.”

“I told him it was for his own safety. Less eyes out back. You talk to your people yet?”

“Tomorrow morning. Nine am. You're welcome to come along if you like. They'd probably like a face to put to the name. Your life isn't in jeopardy with us. We don't want to kill you, Rake. We would have done it the second you stepped off the plane if we really wanted to. What?” he smirks when he sees Tyler raise one of his eyebrows. “ You think we haven't had people watching you? You're a smart man. You know how these things work. It's just business. What I don't know how is how you managed to keep the wife a secret. Not one of the boys saw her until she stepped foot in here that first night.”

“We protect what we love, yeah? I wasn't taking any chances. Not with her.”

“That's a kick in the nuts, you know. The fact she was able to get one over on me like that. Never in a million years did I dream she wasn't who she said she was. She's good. Too good. There's room for both of you if you want, within the family. You both have skill sets we sorely need. We'd make it worth your while. Money wise. Your kids will grow up wanting for nothing.”

“It's a tempting offer, but it's not for us. This is it for me. The last job. Then I'm on to bigger and better things. Running the job behind the scenes.”  
“Talk about pissing away your talents. You're far too strong and far too good to be stuck behind the scenes. We need you out there on the streets, getting your hands dirty. But, if you feel that's what you have to do...”

“It's what's best for my family. I haven't been the best man or husband over the past few years. I have a lot to make up for. If this is what will keep my marriage going and my family together, it's something I have to do. I'm not losing my wife or my kids because of the job.”

“Well if you ever change your mind, you know where to find me. You've got our respect, Rake. You walked in here like you owned the fucking place. Not scared of shit. You can't be pushed around. That's what we look for in our people. It's why you should tag along tomorrow. Meet the boys for yourself. I know they're wanting to meet you. The man, the myth, the legend. You've always just been a ghost. No one ever knew for sure if you even existed. And now, here you are.”

“Yeah...” Tyler smirks. “...here I am.”

Flynn pours both of them a beer from the best that he has on tap, then offers a toast. “So this is really it for you? The last job?”

“That's what I promised my wife.”

“It's what broke me and the ex missus. The kind of life I lead. She didn't think it was safe enough to raise my boy around. I told her there's probably no safer place than being surrounded by the people I have around me. But she saw it a different way. She didn't see it as protection. She saw it as putting targets on their targets. Same thing for you?”

“It's a lot of things,” Tyler says, and sips his beer. “A lot of little things that all roll up into one big thing.”

“You gotta be happy doing what you do, I figure. Because if you're not happy, no one is happy. Say you do give this up...this life you lead...and you get settled into this new job and you find you absolutely fucking hate it. What happens then? You're the type that can sit still for long. I can tell just by looking at you. A guy doesn't do what you've be doing for as long as you have, by just sitting on your ass. You're going to be bored as fuck and you're going to just be itching to back out there. And you'll be able to fight it at first. But you're going to cave. Eventually.”

“Naw, mate. I have too much to lose. The man I was before I took on a wife and kids? That man had nothing to lose. He would have stayed on the job until he was too fucking old to do it, or someone managed to finally take him out. I'm not that man anymore. I've got people relying on me. I've got mouths to feed. I want to see my kids grow up. I want to see my grand kids, even. And that won't happen if I stay in this life. Because she's either going to leave me, or I'm going to die. Those are the only two options.”

“And when you get bored and go back to it? What then? You're still going to end up losing her. And your kids. Better to just stick out and see if you can make it work, don't you think?”

“This is the right decision,” he insists. “The only decision.”

“Fair enough. It's your life. You know what you gotta do. I'm just saying, keep your options open. Don't jump the gun. Think both sides through. I mean, if she stuck with you this long, chances are she's not going anywhere regardless of what you decide to do.”

“She deserves better than this. Better than this life. And so do my kids. So I appreciate what you're saying and what you're trying to do, but you don't know what's going on behind the scenes. Just how bad things actually are. And I kind of don't want to talk about. That's not what I'm here for. So if you don't mind...”

“Alright...alright...” Billy holds up his hands is surrender. “So, I've got the front door all locked up. Note on it says there's a private event going on and to basically fuck off and come back later. I got two of your boys upstairs, another one across the street, and I got the missus' ex back in my office. All listening in. A buddy of mine is going to leave a van out in the alley way that you can use to get McMann to wherever you're going to take him. I don't know what you've got planned for him, and I don't even think I want to know. Judging by that look in your eyes, the old boy is in for a world of hurt.”

“I just want payback. And I want it to be as drawn out and painful as possible.”

“I don't care what you to do him, but if we agree to your terms, we need McMann alive. If he isn't alive, you don't get our help, understand? If we come to get him and he's not breathing, our people bail and then your kids will be left to fend for themselves. We don't do favours for just anyone. You want our help, you better hold up your end of the bargain. Don't fuck us.”

“McMann will be alive. He might be missing some parts, but he'll be very much alive. Your people have to hold up to their end of things too. They have to kill him when they're done doing whatever they're going to do to him. Because I don't want this bloke suddenly showing up on my doorstep a year from now, looking for revenge. His life ends. That's the deal.”

“Oh his life will end,” Flynn assures him. “Just maybe not as soon as he would hope. Here...” he reaches into the front pocket of his jeans and produces a small glass vial of white powder. “...this is the stuff I was telling you about. This isn't your average roofie. This will knock a horse onto its own ass. Don't put the whole thing in his drink. He'll drop dead. Couple sprinkles should do it. That'll have him out cold for a few hours at least. You sure you're alright with this part? Don't fuck it up. And whatever you do, don't accidentally roofie yourself, okay?”

“I'm good with it,” Tyler assures him, and pockets the vial of drugs. 

“Keep what's left. You can use it to really fuck with his head when you get him to wherever he's going. Make it real fun for the old boy. Just for me. I won't be too upset if he gets to us missing an ear or a couple of fingers, I'm just saying.” 

Tyler's SAT phone vibrates in his jeans, and he pulls it out to check it.

“I take it that fucker has arrived,” Flynn observes.

“Just getting out of his car now. My guy across the street has an eye on him. Says he's alone.”

“He's not dumb enough to bring people in here. He'd never get out alive. Now remember what I said; only a little bit of that shit. Don't OD him, for fuck sakes. That's too quick and too painless for the likes of that bastard. Third booth on the left. Your boy put a listening device under it. Said you just have to turn it on and you're good to go. You good? You got this?”

Tyler nods, takes a swig of his beer. “I got this.”

****

“You got a lot of fucking nerve, Rake,” McMann hisses, as he slips into the seat across from Tyler. “Calling me up, demanding I meet you. I'd rather put a bullet between your eyes.”

He smirks. “That's not mates, Michael. I thought we were mates. What ever happened to you practically crying on my shoulder, needing my help? Giving me some fucking sob story about your wife and your kids? You're good. I'll give you that. But I'm better.”

“We'll see about that, won't we. And here...” McMann gestures towards the bar. “...of all places, you sneaky fucker. You knew all along who owns this place. You knew I could be killed just walking into here.”

“If you're so scared of that, why'd you even show up? Why didn't you tell me to just go and fuck myself? I mean, you want me dead, yeah? It's the whole reason you showed up in Guatemala isn't? It was never about your family. You never really wanted my help. You just wanted to kill me.”

McMann stares at him, nostrils flaring, lips set in a grim line.

“I know all your dirty secrets, mate. Every single last one. I know that Jason Andrews' brother hired you. That's who contacted you, yeah? Don't look so surprised. I'm not just a pretty face, you know. I know he hired you to avenge his brother. Who was a psychotic dick bag that deserved the two I put into him. Did he even tell you what his brother did? Did you tell you that he was going to kill my wife? My pregnant wife. Jason was a fucking coward. And he got what he deserved. In the same way you will.”

“I have to hand it to you, Aussie,” McMann smirks. “You're smarter than I give you credit for.”

“And when you didn't get the job done....when you killed the kid that caught onto you...you followed me back to Colorado. You watched every move I made. You watched my wife. You watched my kids. That's some sick shit. And that's a line you never should have crossed. Why'd you kill the girl? Erin? Did you do that yourself or...?”

“I was the one who ordered it. I didn't do it myself.”

“Typical for blokes like you. You don't have the stones to do it yourself. You just delegate, yeah? You don't get your hands dirty? I bet you had some fun with her first though, didn't you. I bet your boys weren't the only ones that raped her. You left some real sick shit for me to find. Did you do it? Did you violate her too? Or did you just stand back and watch?”

The corner of McMann's mouth twitches. 

“That was a message, right? That you were sending me. You wanted me to know what your boys were capable of. That they'd hurt me where it hurts the most. That they wouldn't stop at hurting my wife. You knew she'd be with me. You knew she'd figure you out before I would. That's why you left that girl there for me to find. It was a message. How'd you know? That we'd be there?”

“You think the brother is the only person I have handing me things, Rake. This goes way deeper than you could even possibly begin to imagine. There's a lot of rats in your ship. And it's always the ones you least expect. I'm not the only threat out there. There's other people watching you. There's other people just waiting to take their shot at you. If you think I'm the only one that wants your head, you're one naive motherfucker.”

“Mate, I've had a target on my back for years. If I worried about shit like that, I'd never leave the house. Who was it? That told you we'd be at your house.”

“You know....” McMann waves Billy over as he stands behind the bar, arms crossed over his chest as he pretends to be interested in the soccer match on the television. “..you should really watch who your trust. There's someone getting a little too close to that pretty little wife of yours. I'd really hate to see anything happen to her. You're the one we want. Not her. But if that's the route we have to take...”

“It's on the house,” Billy says, as he slams the mug of beer down onto the table top with enough force to send some of the amber ale splashing over onto the sides, onto the wood, and down onto McMann's lap. “And some on you, apparently. I won't charge a clean up fee for the mess you just made.”

“Stupid fuck,” McMann mutters, furiously ripping napkins from the holder on the window ledge, sopping up the mess on the table top as Billy saunters off, returning to the soccer match. “I'm not finished with you, Aussie,” he says, as he slides out of the booth. “Not by a long shot.”

Tyler shrugs, lifts his own drink to his mouth. “I got all day and all night, mate.”

He mutters profanities and thinly veiled death threats as he stomps off in the direction of the restrooms. Tyler waits; calmly sipping his drink, counting the seconds in his head, until he hears the tell tale creak of rusted metal hinges on the lavatory's old wooden door, then glances over his shoulder at the younger man behind the bar.

Billy doesn't even look in his direction; offering a curt nod. 

He pulls the vial out of his pocket and pops off the cap; carefully shaking some of the white powdery substances into the beer, using the handle of a fork to vigorously stir the liquid;, watching as the drug quickly dissolves, leaving no tell tale sign that the drink had ever been tampered with. Then uses a napkin to clear any wayward drops of beer of the table top and try the handle of the fork, replacing it among the other unused utensils arranged in front of him.

From across the room, Billy clears his throat noisily; signalling McMann's return. And Tyler hurriedly puts the cap back onto the vial and slips it back into his pocket. 

“So what were you saying, mate?” he calmly asks as the other man returns to his seat. “Something about my pretty little wife? Sounded like you were about to make a threat of some sort. You sure you want to do that? Bring her into this? Because there's some things that send me into a blind rage. And someone threatening her is at the top of that list. But if you think it's a smart thing to do...”

“You talk a big game, Aussie. I've always wondered if you can play it as big as you talk.”

“I fucked up four of your men. That you sent to kill me. I put them in the morgue. So yeah, I can play it as big as I can talk it. This is twice you fucked up. Two times now you haven't been able to kill me. That must be a real kick in the nuts, huh? If a bullet to the throat in Dhaka couldn't kill me, what makes you think you can?”

“There's ways. Ways to get to you. Catch you with your guard down. Hurt you where it will hurt the most. You're right, Erin was a message. We wanted you to find her. See what we did to her. Is that what you want happening to your wife? Is that the last memory of her that you want? Watching what we do to her? We'd make sure you were wide awake for the whole thing. So you could see it. So you could hear her. So you could hear her screaming at us to stop, screaming for you to help her. And you not being able to do a damn thing about it. And then we'd kill both of you.”

It takes everything Tyler has not to reach across the table and choke the life out of the man, or to slam his head off the table and then give him an ass kicking off a lifetime. Stopping just before death reaches him so that McMann can catch his breath, then beating him until there is no life left inside of him. But he holds it together; diverting his eyes so McMann can't see the fury brewing in them, taking a long, slow sip of his beer. Trying not to smirk when the other man does the same.

“That doesn't bother you?” McMann asks. “Hearing that? Hearing what we'd do to her?”

“Nothing bothers me after so many years on the job. I've heard it all. Seen it all. Nothing surprises me anymore. You're the first that's ever used his own kids though. Now that is some sick shit. Why? Why do that to your own kids? How fucked in the head do you have to be? Where are they? The kids?”

“You'll never find them. No one ever will.”

“Why keep doing this to them? I've already figured out what you're up to. What's the point of keeping up with this game? Why keep torturing them like that? Those are your kids. You're blood. Why do this? What kind of sick fuck are you?”

“I have reasons. For doing the things I do.”

“I'll find them, you know. I'll find those kids. Whether you tell me where they are or not.”

McMann smirks. “Good luck.”

“Of course, it would be a lot easier on you if you'd just tell me. If you'd just tell me where you've got them so I can just go and get them. I'm not going to leave them there. You knew I wouldn't. You knew once you brought me into this, that I wouldn't give up on finding them.”

“I was counting on it.”

“Where are they? Where's the kids?”

“I'm not handing you all the answers. Aussie. There's some things you need to find out for yourself.”

“They're not in Ireland, are they. You've moved them. That's why we haven't gotten proof of life in four days. You were having those pictures hand delivered. Now there's no one left here to bring them to me. Where are they?”

McMann opens his mouth to speak; quickly clamping it shut. He's sweating profusely; beads of perspiration glistening across his forehead, trickling down his temples, dripping from the tip of his nose. Eyes wide and wild; a mixture of the effects of the drugs and the pure, unadulterated fear. 

“Not feeling so good, are you, mate,” Tyler smirks, casually slipping his beer. “I bet your heart's just about ready to jump out of your chest isn't it. I bet you're not seeing right either; you're probably seeing three of me, seeing shit that's not even there.”

“What...did...you...do....”

“I told you. I told you not to fuck with my family. I told you that if I found out that this was all a big game, I'd come after you. That I'd make you pay. Well guess what, mate. That time has come. You're going to pay. And you're going to regret the day you ever came to Colorado. You're going to regret that you ever walked into that ice cream place and laid eyes on my kids.”

McMann stumbles to his feet, as if in an attempt to lunge at Tyler, but then crumples, already unconscious when his forehead slams off the table.

“Well fuck...” Billy's grinning as he rushes over. “...that was quicker than I thought it would happen. You didn't kill him, did you? You didn't give him the whole vial, I hope.”

“I gave exactly what you said to give him,” Tyler stands and leans across the table, pressing his index and middle finger to McMann's throat. “He's breathing. Fucked up. But breathing. You weren't joking about that stuff, mate. It packs a punch.”

“Van's out back. Let's get this asshole out of here. Your guys are already outside. You got him? You take his feet. He's a heavy fucker.”

The job takes minimal effort with the two of them; one holding the unconscious man under the arms, the other taking him by the legs. And Mark is already at the back door, holding it open, allowing them to pass through and into the alley.

“You fucked him up pretty good!” Nathan excitedly exclaims from where he sits in the front passenger seat, watching everything unfold over his shoulder. “He alive?”

“You thought I'd let him off that easily?” Tyler asks, as he and Billy load McMann into the back. “He has to pay, yeah? For what he did to your buddy? For threatening my family? Death would be too easy for this asshole.”

“Drop the van back off here,” Billy says. “I'll clean out any sign that he was in it. That any of you were in it. Just in case.”

“Thanks for watching my back, mate,” Tyler offers a hand, and the younger man firmly shakes it. “Hear from you in a couple days, yeah?”

“One way or the other. In the meantime, have fun with the old boy. Get some shots in just for me. Make the fucker pay. For ever going near your kids.”

“I plan on it,” Tyler says, and then pulls the sliding door shut.

Billy bangs his hand against the side of the vehicle, signally for the driver to pull away.

*****

He calls her from the storage facility; the signal mediocre at best as he stands in the hallway just mere feet from where an unconscious Michael McMann, hood over his eyes, is now restrained to a metal chair. Hands behind his back, wrists and ankles secured with plastic zip ties, a heavy metal chain wrapped around his torso in order to keep him upright. And he watches as Yaz wraps the tracking bracelet around McMann's ankle and adjusts the signal.

“Did I wake you up?” he asks, hearing the grogginess in her voice.

“Yeah...” she yawns noisily. “...I must have dozed off. I've just been so tired. Is it done?”

“It's done,” Tyler confirms. 

“You're okay?” 

“Not a scratch on me. Well, none that weren't there before.”

She breathes a sigh of relief. “So they have him now? Mark and his buddies?”

“Yep. It's in their hands now. Until the IRA decides what they want to do. If they don't want him...well I guess it's up to me to do something with him. Did you eat?”

“No. I was going to wait for you to get back. Now that we don't have to worry about McMann and we know the IRA is on our side, I figured it would be safe for us to leave the hotel. That way we can actually go somewhere together. You can take me out on another date.”

He grins. “I could do that.”

“So it's a date?”

“Yeah, it's a date.”

“The baby wants tacos. Just so you know.”

“Somehow I doubt she's making food demands this early in the game, but if that's what you want to eat....”

“You're really convinced that it's a girl, aren't you.”

“I am. And not just because of that dream. Something's just telling me that it is.”

“Well, you make an amazing dad. But you make an epic girl dad.”

He smiles.

“I love you, Tyler.”

“I love you, too Esme. I'll see you soon.”

“Bet your ass you will,” she says, and disconnects the call.

He slips his phone into the pocket of his jeans and steps into the locker that has become McMann's temporary home. Zak's taken first watch; already sitting in the corner on a plastic lawn chair, a bag of take out food on the table next to him. 

“He's going to be out for a while,” Yaz says, as he steps beside Tyler. “How much did you give him?”

“A little more than I was supposed to. But not enough to kill him. Here,” he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the vial. “In case he wakes up and starts causing trouble. There's enough left to fuck him up pretty good.”

“You'll be back tomorrow?”

Tyler nods. “First thing in the morning. What do you want me to bring you for breakfast?”

“Something hot and greasy. I'll text you.”

“You know, he said something that I can't get out of my head. About there being more rats in the ship. He said that someone was getting too close to Esme. That I shouldn't trust them.”

“That could be anybody,” Yaz concludes. “Anyone that we've just started working with anyway. Maybe that Tanis chick?”

“Naw. I don't think it's her. That would be too obvious. Your sister have any other new people working for her now?”

“None. Just Jason Andrews' brother. And he's being 'taken care of'. I heard the things he said, Tyler. About Esme. About the things they would have done to her. You okay? With hearing that?”

“No really,” he admits. “That was hard to hear.”

“She's safe now. With him off the street. And she's safe with you. Just stick close to her side. Nothing will happen to her. See you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow,” Tyler confirms, then claps him on the shoulder and heads for the door. “How's the nose?” he asks with a smirk, as Mark steps in before he can exit.

“You're a real arrogant prick, Rake,” he retorts. 

“I've been called worse by better.”

“Where the hell you think you're going?” Mark calls after him, as he heads down the hall.

“I'm going to spend time with my girl,” he replies. “With my wife. You had one of those once, remember? Oh that's right. The same one I have now. Take care of that nose.”

And with that he steps out into the brilliant Belfast sunshine.


	45. Chapter 45

He gets back to the hotel an hour later; anxious to see her, hold her, kiss her. The weight of what Michael McMann had so brazenly told him hadn't fully hit until he was on his way back. He'd dropped the van off at Billy Flynn's bar and had only been behind the wheel of the rented SUV for mere minutes before it hit out of nowhere. The brutal truth hitting him square in the gut, the play by play of McMann's words tightening his chest and filling him with crippling terror and anxiety. The realization of how close he'd actually come to losing the one thing...the one person...that had given him a second chance at life rocking him to his very core. Had they'd been only minutes slower coming out of that bunker, there would have been no way of getting her out of there in time. They would have used her as leverage; to convince him to give himself up in order to save her. And there would have been no hesitation; he would have done it in a heartbeat. But that wouldn't have been enough. Not by a long shot.

They would have made her suffer. Tremendously. They would have inflicted horrific pain and torture on her, even worse than what they'd done to Erin Ferguson, and he would have been forced to watch and listen as they did it. And it was that reality that had seen him having to pull over onto the side of the road; forearms resting against the steering wheel, chin tucked into his chest and his eyes closed. Attempting to breathe through the enormous sobs that shook his entire body; unabashed and vicious tears streaming down his face. Consumed by guilt. The painful realization that it was his choices that had almost led to disaster. That if they had gotten a hold of her, if they had brutalized and violated her, it would have all been his fault. His children would have lost their mother and he would have been the only one to blame. His life didn't matter. If he was to die on the job and she was left behind, she'd be more than capable of raising them on her own. It wouldn't be easy, but she'd be able to do it. They need their mother a lot more than their father. They were used to his frequent absences, after all. But they'd never been away from Esme. Until he'd fucked it all up and called her needing her help.

For several minutes he'd stayed there on the side of the road. Until the tears had finally subsided and the anxiety had begun to dissipate; until his heart no longer threatened to burst out of his chest and his lungs became willing to draw normal breath. 

Tanis is sitting in the hallway, leaning back against the door to the room when he steps off the elevator. Knees bent, an iPad resting on her thighs. And he thinks about what McMann had said. About there being more 'rats in the ship' and that someone was getting too close for comfort and they wouldn't be trusted. Although Tanis had been the first suspect that had crossed Yaz' mind, nothing stood out to Tyler that suggested the woman was a threat. She was friendly, mild mannered, even tempered. Had an impeccable service record with the Corps. Normally his instincts are able to pick on even the slightest hint of suspicion, but when he looked at her...noticing the way she carries herself, how well read and passive she is...he felt nothing. Not even the slightest inkling of trouble.

“You don't have to sit out here all the time, you know,” Tyler says as he approaches, fishing his key card out of the back pocket of his jeans. “You can actually go in the room.”

“I know,” she looks up at him with a wide, bright smile. “But she'd fallen asleep and I felt weird just sitting there watching her, so...” she shrugs. “...here I am. How'd it go?”

“It went,” his reply is simple, straight to the point. 

“Have you started beating him into submission yet or...”

“Keep your fucking voice down,” he snarls, and she blinks at the vicious tone in his voice. 

“I'm sorry. I was just...”

“She doesn't know. About what's going on. She thinks the Marines are in control now. That you're holding him somewhere until the IRA makes up their mind. She doesn't need to know anything else.”

“You don't think she'll figure it out? That she won't wonder where you're disappearing too all the time? I mean, you are planning on following through with it, right? You're not thinking of backing out are you?”

“He needs to pay. And he's going to. But you need to keep your goddamn voice down and not breathe a word of this to her. She doesn't need to know. She's got enough on her plate already. She doesn't need to know about this. I've got things under control. I know what I'm doing.”

Tanis cocks her head to the side as she regards him, “Do you? Because this is a hell of thing you're about to do. I don't know how anyone can be in total control in this kind of situation. Haven't you already lost control if you're willing to do something like this in the first place?”

“Listen, you don't even know me. All you know about me is the a bunch of fucking stories that you've heard.”

“I know that you saved the kid even though you could have given him up for five million dollars. I know you put your ass on the line to get him out of Dhaka even when you knew nothing was going to come of it. That doesn't sound like a guy that gets him off on torturing someone. That sounds like someone with a conscience. A heart.”

“He was a kid. A fucking kid. He was innocent. I wasn't going to leave him in the street or hand him over. For any amount of money. This shit with McMann? This is different. He's a sick fuck. He's sick and twisted and he took advantage of his own kids and he's letting people do fucked up things to them. And he threatened my family. That's a line you don't cross.”

She frowns. “I notice you didn't mention that he did all of this because he wants to kill you.”

“I don't give a shit about me. I care about those kids. I care about my own. I care about my wife. Those are the only people who matter to me. So you need to keep your goddamn mouth shut. She doesn't need to know about this. Especially now. Not with the baby. I just need her to stay relaxed and calm and have everything go nice and smooth for the next seven to eight months or however long we still have go.”

“She's not stupid you know,” Tanis informs him, as she gets to her feet. “She's going to know that something is up. When you're wandering off in the early hours of the morning or during the day. Making up lame, bullshit excuses that she's going to see right through. You really don't think you can hide this from her, do you?”

“I think you need to mind your business and stay out of things that go on between me and my wife. You're just here to protect her. That's it. You're not here to be her friend. You're just here to make sure she's safe. So just keep your mouth shut and do your goddamn job.”

“This is protecting her,” Tanis argues. “Worrying about her. It's not just physical protection that's important, you know. What's going to happen when the truth does get out? When she realizes what you've been keeping from her? When she realizes you've been lying to her? When she realizes just what you're capable of? That won't be a good ending. Not for her, and certainly not for you.”

“That's something I'll worry about when it happens. I'm doing this for her. For my kids. And she'll understand that.” 

Will she though? Will she really see it that way? Or is that wishful thinking on his part? It was more likely that it would terrify her; the person that he's become. The one he'd warned her about five and a half years ago when he'd told her in that dirty hotel room in Dhaka that maybe it was best they left things the way they were. If they just walked away when the five days were over and never thought of each other again. 

“I think it's a reach to expect her to understand why you felt the need to drug, abduct, and torture a man. Do you realize how insane that sounds? How insane you sound? That you're okay with this? Doesn't this make you just as bad as some of the monsters you've had to go up against? How does this make you any different than them?”

“I'm nothing like them. I'll never be like them. I'm doing this for a reason.”

“They had reasons too,” she points out. “Reasons that made sense to them at the time. In the same way this is making sense to you right now. But I am telling you, she's going to know something is going on. She's been with you for almost six years. She knows you better than you know yourself, I bet. So you're a goddamn fool if you think you're going to get away with this.”

“I think you need to leave,” he nods towards the elevator. “I think you need to shut your mouth and get the hell out of here.”

“There's a very line between fighting the monsters and becoming one ourselves,” she says. “Maybe that's something you need to think long and hard about.”

“Maybe you need to just mind your own business and fuck off,” he suggests. 

“You're going to regret this.” she warns him, as she heads down the hall. “This is going to come back and bite you in the ass. And you're not going to like how it ends.”

******

She is just emerging from the bathroom when he steps inside, clad in one of the hotel's terrycloth bathrobe, vigorously drying her hair with a towel. And the bright, ear to ear smile that she flashes him is almost enough to erase all the mental anguish and torment that's been plaguing his already troubled, weary mind. But he pulls it together. For her. Because she needs him to be the strong, stoic, seemingly unbreakable one. The one person that -by her own admission- has always made her feel safe and secure. Protected. And he can't let her down. He doesn't want to disappoint her.

He doesn't want to fail her.

“Hey,” she cheerfully greets, and perches herself on her tip toes to wrap her arms around his neck. Even then it's a stretch, and he still has to either bend or lean into her. “I was wondering what took you so long.”

“There was a couple of loose ends to tie up. Nothing important,” he places his hands on her hips and kisses her; the soft, long, unhurried press of closed mouth upon closed mouth. Loving the way she presses herself against him, how she steps up onto the top of his feet so he doesn't have to lean down as far. And one hand moves to the small of her back and the other to the space between her shoulders, pulling her tight against him. 

He closes eyes as he feels the scrape of her nails against his scalp; where his hair is clipped tight to his head. It's a comforting act. One she'd stumbled upon -and he found soothing and effective- when he'd been in the hospital. On the nights when the nightmares, the pain, and the withdrawal from Oxy were especially bad, she'd climb into the bed alongside of him and just hold him with all the strength she possessed inside that tiny body. And she gives him this moment now; sensing that he needs it. That he needs that chance to be the one that needs to be soothed and comforted instead of the one that always provides those things. Maybe she even feels it. The way he holds her with a sense of urgency. A sense of desperation.

She pulls away; just enough so she tilt her head back and look up at him. “Are you okay?” she asks, a frown tugging at her lips and creasing her brow. “You seem a little...off.”

He attempts a reassuring smile. “I'm fine.”

She cocks her head to the side and her eyes narrow skeptically. 

“It was just a little harder than I thought it would,” he admits, and presses a kiss to the bridge of her nose. “He said some things. That I wasn't ready to hear. It fucked with my head a bit.”

“What kind of things? About you?”

He shakes his head. 

“About his kids? Did he tell you where they are?”

“I couldn't get it out of him. It wasn't about his kids.”

“About our kids? Please tell me he didn't threaten them. Please tell me that he's not going to send people after them. That they're going to be okay with Ovi. That...”

He presses his lips to her, effectively silencing her. “It wasn't about our kids.”

“About me?”

He nods. And once again he can feel that anxiety setting in; the emotion that chokes him, the tears that threaten, the blinding rage that serves as proof that he has to follow through with his plan. That no matter the short term or long term consequences, McMann has to pay for what he's done. For what he could have done. 

“Tyler...” she reaches up to lay her hands on the side of his face; liking the way his beard feels against her palms. Thumbs drifting along his bottom lip, then down onto his chin and across jaw. “...what did he say?”

“I can't tell you,” his voice is a near a whisper. How could he ever possibly tell her what he'd heard? It was bad enough that he'd have those words stuck in his head for the rest of his life, never mind the graphic and vile images they'd painted. He couldn't possibly burden her with that. 

“That bad?”

“That bad,” he confirms.  
“It had to do with that Erin girl, didn't it.” 

She's not stupid. Far from it. She knows the things that trigger him the easiest; senseless violence and abuse of any kind towards women and children. But it's a fine line between triggering sorrow and fear and intense rage. He always walks in between the two; never fully falling on one side or the other, but dangerously close to succumbing to the latter. The anger is always there. A byproduct of his PTSD. Lingering just under the surface, always on a slow boil. And it won't take much to set it off.

He nods.

“What did you see? When you found her? What...?”

“I can't tell you. You don't need to hear that. It's bad enough that it's stuck in my head. You don't need it stuck in yours.”

“It was horrible, wasn't it.”

Another nod.

“And he told he that he'd do the same thing to me. If not worse. And you'd have to watch it.”

“I don't want to talk about this. You don't need to know these things. I don't want you knowing these things.”

“You know he only said that to fuck with your head right? To get you to lash out at him. Did you? Lash out?”

“In a way, yeah.” He wants to tell her. The burden of his decision weighs heavily, and he knows if he gets it out sooner, rather than later, the damage won't be as catastrophic. The longer he holds it in, the worse things will be. For himself. For them.

“Don't let him get to you, Tyler. It's what he wants. He wants you to react. And react badly. Don't do that. Don't let him get you to that point. Because I've seen you at that point and it's not good. For anyone. But especially for you.”

“I can't get it out of my head. The shit that he said. It's fucking stuck in there. And it just keeps playing over and over again and it won't fucking stop. I need it to stop. Because when I think about what could have happened, how bad things could have gotten the other day...”

“Stop,” she gently orders, thumbs brushing along his jaw once more before her hands slide down to his shoulders and onto his chest. “Don't do this to yourself. You're your own worst enemy. You have to just take it from the source. You know he's messed up. You know he's liable to say anything to get you riled up. Don't let him start living up in your head for free. You have enough going on up there.”

“He wasn't just saying these things. He would have done them. In a heartbeat. And he would have made me watch and...”

“Stop,” her tone is firmer now, harsher, but her hands are soft as they travel over his chest and over to his ribs. “You're doing it. You're letting him in. Don't do that to yourself. It doesn't matter what would have happened. It didn't happen. That's what's important. You're here and I'm here and fuck what he says. Why torture yourself like this? Why think about what could have happened to me when I'm right here in front of you?”

“Because.”

“Because? That is what Millie says when we ask her why she does stupid shit. And she's five. You have to give me more than 'because'.”

“Because I don't want to lose you. Especially like that.”

“Tyler...stop...” she admonishes. “I'm right here. Nothing is going to happen me. I'm safer here...with you...than anywhere else. You need to stop this. You need to get out of your head. Nothing good comes from you spending too much time up there. I love you, but you have to stop this. This obsessing over things. Because it's eating up inside and I hate seeing what it's doing to you. Have you been taking your meds?”

“Don't start with that.”

“Because you get like this when you don't take them for a few days. You get agitated and moody and you're constantly on edge. You know you're supposed to take them every day. Not just when you feel like it. Just because you have one or two good days doesn't mean you stop taking them.”

He scowls. “I'm not a fucking child, Esme.”

“I never said you were. I worry about you. Maybe I want you to be okay. Mentally. Have you ever thought of that? That maybe I don't want you to be like this? Not for me, but for yourself? I don't want your brain constantly torturing you and putting you through needless bullshit. The meds help and you know they do. So quit fucking around and just take them. Because you know you're in a better place mentally when you do. And when you're in a better place mentally, everything is better. We're better. And that's what we're trying to work on, right? Being better for each other?”

“Yeah, but...”

“There's no 'but' in this. I want you to take care of yourself. Up here,” she taps the end of her index finger against his forehead. “Because that's just as important as everything else. And you don't just need to it for me or the kids. You need to do it for yourself. Can't you see I'm trying to help you, Tyler? You're not in this alone. This fight you have with your own mind? You don't have to do this by yourself. It's been five and a half years. You'd think by now you'd realize that I'm fully capable of putting up with your bullshit.”

He grins. “In all fairness, it's not that much bullshit.”

“Oh please. You have enough bullshit for half the planet,” she teases, and then runs her hands up and down his rib cage. “Stop being so stubborn and let me take care of you.”

“You took care of me enough. When I was the hospital. When I first got home. When...”

“It doesn't stop. Honestly, stop being so goddamn pig headed and just let me love you and take care of you. Why do you have such a hard time doing that? Letting me all the way in? I'm your wife, Tyler. I'm the mother of your children. Of all the people you should be comfortable with...”

“I am comfortable with you,” he assures her. “That's not what this is about. This isn't about you. This is about me. And my fucked up head.”

“And I'm here...right in front of you...telling you that you don't have to deal with that alone. I took all this on when I married you. Willingly. It's not like you held a gun to my head.”

“According to your mother, that's exactly what I did.”

“This is a woman with more issues than the both of us put together, so take what she says with a grain of salt.”

“You know she thinks I have women all over the place? Stashed all over the globe in the different places I go to? She told she knew I was cheating on you. That day I went over to her place.”

“When would you have the time and the energy to cheat?”

“Exactly what I said. Not that I want to cheat,” he quickly adds. “You know I would never do something like that.”

“Because you know I'd cut your dick off.”

“Well yeah, but because I love you and I don't want anyone else but you. I've got my hands full with you, why the fuck would I want to take on more?”

She frowns. “You started it out so good and then it went so bad.”

“You know I'm joking,” his hands move from her hips to her back; travelling up to her shoulders, then cradling her face in his hands. 

She can feel the callouses on his palms against her skin. It's so familiar. Comforting, even. And she no longer can remember what any other man's hands had felt like. Whether it be during a tender moment such as this, when they're languidly exploring her body, or when he's rougher and more aggressive. 

“I don't want anyone else,” he says. “I haven't wanted anyone else in a long time. Since Dhaka.”

“I thought I was just a booty call,” she chides. “A five day booty call, but still...”

“I didn't know what you were,” he admits. “But I knew you were more than that.”

She smiles.

“And I'll never want anyone else. This is it for me. You're it for me. Even though I told your mother that I had another wife and six kids back in Australia.”

“What?” she laughs. “Why would....?”

“She's hell bent on thinking I've got women all over the place.”

“She's also mad we had premarital sex and I got pregnant before we were married.”

He smirks. “I guess maybe we shouldn't let her know just how wild and crazy the premarital sex was.”

“That's probably not a good idea. Although it could push her even closer towards her much needed mental breakdown. Maybe then she'd chill the fuck out.”

“She's just worried about you,” he reasons. “Do you blame her? If she wasn't worried about you before, she sure as fuck is that she knows exactly what I do for a living.”

“I'm safer with you than anyone else. I've never doubted that. I know how capable you are of kicking ass. I don't worry about someone trying bullshit with me. I'd know you'd wreck them.”

“It would go beyond just wrecking someone,” he says, and thinks about McMann back at the storage facility, drugged up and chained to a metal chair, restrained with zip ties. It should sicken Tyler; that he'd not resorted to the means he had, but that what his future plans entail. It should trouble him that it's come down to this...that he's come to this.

But he feels nothing. Not even the slightest bit of disgust or remorse. 

“Are you sure you're okay?” she asks, concern darkening her once again. “Because you don't seem like you're okay.”

“I'm not,” he admits. “But I will be.”

****

He can't sleep. The pain in his shoulder and behind the right knee intense. A throbbing, incessant ache that seems as it is burrowing straight through the bone. It had been a relaxing night; dinner out followed by a walk along the river, slow and intense love making that had been more powerful than anything they'd experienced lately. As if that bond they share was finally on the road to repairing itself; the weathered and tattered edges being stripped away, in hopes of things beyond made stronger than even before. That bond was something that they'd always shared; strong, unbreakable, reliable even. The result of two broken people coming together to not only heal one another, but save each other. But over the last two years it had begun to unravel, no matter how hard they tried to keep it from happening. There was always something they couldn't quite get past; an invisible, yet powerful force that just wouldn't let them rebuild things. 

But he'd felt it. When he'd been buried deep inside of her; feeling the way she clawed at his back and his shoulders, hearing it each time his name escaped her lips, see it whenever he would pull back to look at her and their eyes would lock, gazes never wavering. It was different this time. It was needy and it was desperate but it was different. In a way he couldn't quite explain yet he knew was a good sign.

He sits out on the balcony; the cool breeze that lingers on the night air is refreshing and effectively clears away the perspiration that had gathered on his forehead and the nape of his neck. It's the detoxing; he'd gone cold turkey when it came to the meds for his PTSD and his pain. He hated how they made him feel; reflexes slow, brain foggy, impaired judgment in situations he needed to have a clear head in. But he'd never expected this kind of reaction; the chills, the tremors, the all over body sweats and the nausea. He'd dealt with it before; when being weaned off the Oxy after years of relying on it. And he'd hoped he'd never have to deal with again.

He texts Yaz; the other man taking the night shift at the storage facility. McMann had woken briefly, began panicking with the hood over his head and immediately began thrashing about in the chair in a desperate attempt to free himself. Yaz had given him he remainder of the drugs, which had effectively knocked him out cold. Afterwards, he deletes all the messages in the thread. He's never felt the need to have a lock on his phone, and Esme is free to go in and out of it as she pleases, in the same way he's able to do it with hers. Trust has never been their issues. They struggled with many things, but that has never been one of them. But he withholds downloading the software that would enable him to watch the feed of the storage site. That's the next last he needs her stumbling upon.

He messages Ovi next. There hasn't been any cause for concern or worry, but they have moved into Oklahoma, where Chloe has family; given refuge in an empty house while the family is away in Florida. The kids are struggling; they miss their own house, their own beds, their backyard, even the chickens and the goats. Most of all they miss their mom and dad, and are starting to worry that they're never going to come home. And Ovi shares a video of the kids; singing some camp fire song that Chloe had taught them, and tearfully telling their mommy and daddy how much they love them and can't wait until they're all together again. He has a good cry over that; missing his kids with a level of intensity he's never experienced before. And then it turns into rage once again. Adding even more fuel to the fire that burns inside of him. The one that is dangerously close to being completely out of control. And he remembers how Gaspar had said that tears were for the weak. That only fragile, soft men show that kind of emotion. 

He closes his eyes and leans his head against the brick wall behind him, a grimace on his face as he reaches across his body with his left harm and massages at his aching shoulder. It's gone way beyond the lingering discomfort of a recently relocated separated shoulder. There will be specialist appointments, CAT scans, probably another surgery. 

I'm going to old for this shit, he internally laments, wincing as he attempts to roll his shoulder, hearing the pops and the cracks that accompany the movement. Cracking an eye open when he hears the scrapping of the patio door on the track; watching his wife steps out onto the balcony, clad in one of his hoodies, a bottle of water in her hands.

“You should be asleep,” he scolds.

“So should you,” she counters, as she journeys over in her bare feet, holding out the bottle of water, then reaching into the pocket on the hoodie and pulling out a bottle of prescription meds.

He frowns. “I don't need those.”

“Bullshit. You do need them. You can take these ones, Tyler. These aren't Oxy and you know it.”

“So I go and get addicted to something else?”

“They're Tylenol three. With codeine. These are nowhere near as addictive as Oxy. You can't go on like this. In constant pain. You deserve some relief.”

“Then fuck me again. That always makes me feel better.”

She sighs. “That's temporary.”

“So are those. At least fucking is fun.”

“It's three in the morning. I'm not in the mood for your bitchiness. Here...” she drops the bottle of water in his lap, then uncaps the bottle of meds and dumps two into her palm. “...I'm trying to help you here.”

“What the hell do you you think two is going to do? That won't even take the edge off.”

“It'll help. Don't try my patience, please. Just humour me. Take them. Or I'll force them down your throat.”

He snorts. “I'd like to see you try.”

She glares at him.

“Okay, maybe I wouldn't. I know you're not above kicking me in the balls and then shoving them down me throat while I scream.”

“You're worse than the kids. Just take the damn meds. Please.”

He finally relents, angrily scooping the pills out of her palm and dropping them into his mouth, swallowing them with a half of the bottle of the water. “Do you want me to open my mouth and stick my tongue out to prove I actually took them?”

“Don't be a fuck head,” she says, and then tousles his hair. “You're going back on those others one tomorrow. For your PTSD.”

“Esme, you're not my mother.”

“No. I'm not. But I am a concerned wife and I worry about you. You're going back on them. You're not the same person when you're not on them.”

“And I'm the same person when I am on them?”

“You're calmer for one. You're not so combative.”

“I'm a fucking zombie. Is that what you want? That I'm so doped up I can't function properly?”

“I'd rather you doped up than suicidal,” she says. “I've been there, remember? When you've been in that really dark place. And I don't want you going back there. Ever. Because I worry the next time you get there, I won't get you back out. So you're going back on those meds. Because I kind of like having you around. And so do our kids.”

He sighs.

“You're going to take them because you need them. And I know that when you're thinking straight, you don't want to go back to that dark place either. And I know you don't want to leave your kids without their father.”

He nods, eyes downcast. “You're right.”

She stands between his thighs, holding his face in her hands as she drops a kiss on the top of his head. “You're going to be okay, Tyler. I promise.”

Normally it's him saying those things. Assuring her that things are going to be alright. That no matter how dark and desolate things seem, they'll get through it. Together. Like they always have. And he places his hands on her hips and pulls her towards him, resting his forehead against her warm, comforting body.

“It's going to be okay,” her voice is soft, reassuring, as she scrapes her nails against his scalp. “You're going to be okay. You know how you always say 'I got you' to me when I'm feeling like shit?”

He nods.

“Well I got you, Tyler. I got you.”

The tears come now. Hot and bitter. And he knows he should be ashamed of them; for being so weak and vulnerable. But for once in his life he has that one person he can let his guard down with. Who won't call him 'soft' or 'fragile'; who won't judge him for being human.

“When is it going to be enough?” she asks, combing her fingers through his hair. “When are you going to stop giving everything you have to other people? You can't do this forever. You're tiring yourself out. Mentally and physically. You're so busy fighting other peoples' battles that you're not fighting your own. When do you finally walk away? When you can't walk away anymore? When you're dead? When I'm dead?”

“Don't say that.” his voice is muffled against his body. “Don't ever say that.”

“You can't keep doing this. Breaking yourself down for other people. You just can't. It's going to kill you, Tyler. Maybe not physically. But it will kill you mentally. It's already starting. It's already starting and all I can do is sit and watch it happen. Watch it consume you. When am I enough?”

“You are. You are enough. You've always been enough.”

“You need to walk away. Right now. We need to get the hell out of here and just go home. There's no shame in that, you know. In saying enough is enough and worrying about yourself for once.”

“Those kids, though. I haven't found those kids.”

“And what if you never do? How long do we stay here? Another week? Another two weeks? Another month? Six months? We need to go home. To our own kids. To our own life. You can't save them all.”

“Just a few more days. That's all I need. Just a few more days.”

“And then this ends. Whether you find those kids or not. We get out of here and we go home and we go on with our lives. Killing yourself isn't going to save them. And you know that.”

He nods in agreement.

She pushes her hands through his hair, gently tugging on the longer strands and pulling his head back, so he's looking up at her. “Seven days. That's all I'm giving you. And then I go home. With or without you. Understand me? I'm done, Tyler. With this life. I'm done. I can't do this anymore. And now you have to decide what you want. It's this life or it's me and the kids. We can't coexist with the job anymore. And we shouldn't have to.”

“You,” he immediately responds. “I want you. And my kids.”

She manages a small smile, then kisses him softly. “A week” she stresses. “That's it. I can't give you more than that. I've already given more than I give. And I'm sorry. If that hurts you. But I don't have anything left to give you. This version of you, at least.”

“Okay,” he says, and then buries his face in her stomach once more. 

Seven days. A week. Or life as he knows it is over. With no chance of getting it back.


	46. Chapter 46

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: DarkTYLER

It's five thirty in the morning when Tyler arrives at the storage facility, the hood of his sweater pulled over his head, sunglasses covering his eyes. Yaz said there'd been some 'activity' during the night; most likely homeless folks looking for a place to sleep, or thieves taking advantage of the night to break into some of the occupied lockers. Still, without knowing exactly who'd been poking around, it's better to take precautions; hide your face, cover the numbers on your license plate, only use your SAT phone within a kilometre of the place. Small things that can often make the difference between life and death. 

There's three insulated coolers in the back of the SUV -filled with bags of ice and bottles of water- and he leaves them for the time being; killing the engine and then gathering up the cardboard carry out tray of hot drinks and the bag of breakfast foods that sit in the passenger seat. It's a cooler morning; a stiff breeze rolling in from the east, bringing with it the smells of rotting garbage and pollution produced by the surrounding industrial plants. And he keeps his head down as he climbs out of the car, shutting the door with his hip and setting the alarm via remote, the soles of his boots crunching against dirt and debris as he heads through the gate and towards the front entrance. Eyes always searching; skirting left in right, constantly on the look out for anything suspicious or any sign of trouble.

Michael McMann is still restrained to the chair; hands still secured behind his back, ankles still tethered, hood still over his head, chin tucked into his chest.

“You're early,” Yaz comments from where he sits in the far corner of the room with his laptop on his thighs. 

“Couldn't sleep. He been awake at all?”

“Couple times. Totally flipping his shit. Calling you all sorts of filthy names. Were your ears ringing? Because they should have been. And he may or may not have had an accident.”

Tyler arches an eyebrow. “What kind of accident? I don't like cleaning up piss or shit when it's kids, never mind an adult. So if you left that for me...”

“Nothing like that. He lost his balance when I took him over to the bucket to take a leak. Took a header right off the floor. Split his forehead open pretty good. Thought he was going to bleed out all over the goddamn place and I might have to call an ambulance. But as you can see, he's still here. Breathing.”

“You make that sound like a bad thing.”

“Bad thing for him, maybe. He's going to wish he was dead when you get through with him. What'cha bring me?” Ya peers into the paper bag that Tyler sets down on the table. “Hardening of the arteries, that's what you brought me. I like working with you much better than my sister. She's into all this healthy shit that tastes just like that. Shit. You spoil me. If you weren't already married, I'd scoop you right up.”

“I already told you, you're not my type. You're a brunette, but you're way too tall and way too skinny. I'd break you in half.”

“Hey, if Esme can handle you, I can handle you. I honestly don't understand how someone as small as her, can carry a baby made by you inside of that little body. Especially two at the same time? You're like a fucking giant compared to her. How do you guys manage to...you know...”

“I am not discussing my sex life with you, Yaz. But my wife is happy and satisfied. And then some. We make things work. If we didn't, we wouldn't have four kids.”

“And one on the way,” Yaz points out. “Another spawn of yours let loose on the world. I appreciate your hard work when it comes to populating the world, but the last thing we need is another one of you. One Tyler Rake is enough. Now there's going to be five? This world does not stand a chance. This gonna be the last one? For the good of humanity?”

“Definitely the last one,” he says, and shrugs out of his hoodie, grimacing at the pain in his shoulder. 

“Those guys fucked you up pretty good,” Yaz observes. “You alright?”

“I've had worse,” he shrugs, and removes a bottle of pills from one of the sweater pockets before tossing it on the back the chair, sitting down with a grunt. 

“You look like shit.”

“I feel like shit,” Tyler admits, and twisting the top off the bottle of pills, dumps two in his mouth and swallows them down with hot coffee. 

“Not sleeping again?”

He shakes his head.

“Back on the Valium, huh? Thought you weren't going to take it anymore? Thought you didn't like the way it makes you feel.”

“Better than the way it makes me feel when I'm off it. And I told my wife I'd get back on them, so...” he shrugs. “She doesn't like who I am when I'm not taking them.”

“You have been a little...” Yaz choose his words carefully. “...on edge.”

“I think that's more to do with this prick...” he nods at McMann. “...then not taking meds.”

“I'm not just talking about that. About this job. I'm talking in general. You haven't been yourself. You've been a prick for the most part. Like you're ready to just tear someone apart if you think they're looking at you in the wrong way. I get the stress and the worrying about the kids and now your wife's pregnant and you got that on your plate. But for you to decide to do something like this? That isn't you, Tyler. You're the one that had to talk Esme out of getting her revenge on the kid who nearly killed you. And now you're doing this? You drugged somebody. You kidnapped him. You're going to torture him. Shit like that? That's not you.”

“I warned him. That if he fucked with my family...”

“Your family is safe. Nothing happened. You were able to stop that. I get that he needs to pay. But handing him over to the IRA should be enough, don't you think? You shouldn't need to do this. You shouldn't want to do this.”

Tyler's eyes narrow. “I thought you were on my side. You said you'd help me.”

“And I have. Helped you. But this is getting out of hand. This is far beyond what I'm comfortable with. Just hand him over and call it a day. Wash your hands of him and that's it. Go home, Tyler. Go home and get your kids. Spend time with your family. Forget about this shit. If you walk away now, no extra harm has been done. Your hands are still clean. Your conscience is still clean.”

He frowns. “You've been talking to that prick Mark, haven't you.”

“I don't like the guy anymore than you do, okay? But he has a point. This is going to mess with your head. This is going to fuck you up and you're going to change, man. You're own wife and kids won't even recognize you anymore. Is that what you want? You want to loose them? Because that's what's going to happen. Whether you lose them because you go through with this and try to keep it a secret, or because you become someone else. And I know that's not what you want.”

“Of course that's not what I want. But...”

“So get your ass on the next plane and go home. Take your wife, go home and get your kids, and live a normal life. You deserve that. Aren't you tired of this? This bullshit? The constant travelling? The danger? The blood? The killing? Putting your ass on the line for people who don't even appreciate it? I know the money is good. But when does it become less about the money and more about keeping yourself alive for your kids?”

“Don't do that, Yaz. Use my kids against me. That's a bitch move and you know it.”

“You're a dad, Tyler. They depend on you. They need you. Where have you been for most of their lives? Can you sit back and say that you've been around more than you've been away? That you've made the best of your time with them in the past five and a half years? Because if you can, you're a fucking liar. You've been away more than you've been with them. And I'm sorry if that's a huge kick in the nuts hearing that, but it's the truth. They deserve better than that, man. They deserve to have memories of you being there, not memories of their mom single handily trying to hold everything together. Your responsibility didn't stop when you helped make them, you know.”

He sighs heavily, runs his hands over his weary face.

“I'm saying all this because you're my boy. Because I care about what happens to you. This life...being a husband...being a dad...this is the life you never thought you'd have. You shouldn't even be here. Everything says that you never should have made it alive out of Dhaka, And you did. You were given a second chance at life and this is what you do with it? You piss away the chance to have a good life? A relatively normal life? Why? For what? For an asshole like him!” Yaz jerks his thumb over his shoulder at McMann. 

“He fucked up. And he needs to pay the price. And maybe you'd understand that if you had a family to loose.”

“You're not going to have your own family if you do this. You stand to lose everything. Your wife, your kids. Don't do that to yourself. And most importantly don't do that to them. Don't do that to Esme. She's stuck by you through even the hardest shit. All those times she probably should have told you to fuck off and stay away. But she always gave you another chance. And this is how you repay her? By pushing her away? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Can we not talk about this? Because no matter what you say, I'm going through with this. This is what he deserves. And if I lose everything because of it...”

“You're actually willing to lose your entire life because of him? Just hand him over to the IRA and wash your hands of him. They'll punish him enough. You don't need to do it.”

“Yeah, Yaz. I do. And I get that you don't understand why and if you want to walk away...”

“I'm not letting you do this alone. Fuck that. I don't trust Mark or his two flying monkeys. But if I can't talk you out of it, maybe Nik can. She's flying in this morning. And she's pissed as hell. She's going to come for your balls; just a heads up.”

“This has nothing to do with her. She can stay the fuck out of it. She's only sticking her nose in it because of Mark.”

“I agree he's a little weasel and she's way too good for him, but she's worried about you. We all are.”

“There's nothing to worry about. I'm fine. And I'll be fine.”

Yaz stares at him pointedly. 

“I'll be fine,” he repeats, hoping he sounds more convincing to other ears than he does to his own.

*****

It's seven am by the time McMann begins to stir. Mumbling incoherently from underneath the hood, soles of his feet scraping against the cement as he attempts to move his legs, muscles straining slightly as he tries to fight the zip ties binding his hands together. Tyler watches him; leaning back in his own chair, hands clasped behind his head, his feet propped up on the cooler sitting on the floor in front of him. And it isn't until the other man begins to struggle in earnest that he moves; taking his feet off the cooler and popping open the lid, taking out one of the ice cold bottles of water before shutting the lid.

“Time to wake up,” he says, as he approaches McMann. “Time to get this shit started,” he yanks the hood off the restrained man's head and tosses it into the corner. “Hey...wake up....” he grabs a hold of McMann's chin, vigorously shaking his head from side to side. “...time to wake up, asshole. Time to reap what you sow, mate.”

McMann pulls his head back, then makes a noise in the back of his throat as gathers up saliva.

Tyler wraps his hand around the man's throat, fingers digging into the flesh. “Don't even fucking think about it. 'Cause I'll break your goddamn neck and then I'll be pissed because you ruined all my fun. Swallow.”

McMann shakes his head.

“Swallow. Now.”

Another refusal.

“Why do you have to make this so hard on yourself? Why do you have to make me work even harder?” he uses his teeth to uncap the bottle of water, then spits the lid across the room and moves his hand from McMann's throat to underneath his chin. Roughly forcing his head back and painfully pressing his thumb and forefinger into the other man's cheeks, effectively forcing his jaw open. “You gonna swallow or are we going to do this the hard way?”

McMann stares up at him, eyes defiant.

Tyler smirks, then shoves the opening of the bottle into other man's move, pouring out the ice cold liquid as quick as possible, until it's pouring out the corners of his mouth and trickling down his cheek and McMann begins to cough and sputter; fighting helplessly against his restraints. “Wasn't so hard was it?” Tyler tosses the empty bottle into the corner. “Try that again and I won't go so easy on you. I will snap your windpipe, understand me?”

McMann doesn't respond.

“Understand me?” Tyler snarls, and yanks the man's head back by his hair. “Fucking answer me when I ask you a question.”

McMann nods. “I understand.”

“Good,” Tyler releases his grip on the other man's hair, then wanders over to the table where all the weapons are other tools are being held. Selecting one of the box cutters before grabbing one of the plastic chairs and placing it in front of McMann. “You and are I going to have a little chat. About a few things. You remember that conversation we had on the plane? About what would happen to you if I found out this was all a game? If it turned out you were playing me? You remember that, right?”

“I remember.”

“I told you that I come for you. That if you were fucking me over, you'd regret it. So...” he sits down in the chair, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “...here we are. Just the two of us. And that table over there...” he nods in the direction of the stash of weapons. “....see that? All those things are for you, Michael. Can you I call you Michael?” he smirks. “Of course I can. First name basis, yeah? I think we're close enough for that now, don't you?”

He nods.

“To be honest, mate, I really don't give a shit that you tried to kill me. Twice. I've had a lot of people try to kill me. One of them almost succeeded five and a half years ago. See this...” he taps the end of the box cutter against the scar on the left side of his neck. “...a kid did that. A fucking teenager. He managed to get me closer to death than I've ever been. How does that make you feel? Knowing you fucked up...twice...but a kid nearly managed to kill me?”

McMann remains silent.

“You don't feel much like talking, huh? That's okay. I have a lot I need to say. And I've got ways of making you talk. So...” he pushes down on the release button on the box cutter; every snap as the blade pushes out echoing in the room. “....what I'm really upset about is that you showed up where I live. Not just where I live, but where my wife lives. Where my kids live. Because I don't care about myself nearly as much as I care about them. You could have just cut your losses after you fucked up in Guatemala, but you didn't. You had the goddamn nerve to come to Colorado and watch me. Watch my family. You were in that ice cream shop that day. Ten feet away from daughter. Ten feet away from my sons. That was a bad move, mate. A very bad move.”

“I did what I had to do,” McMann finally speaks. “What I was paid to do.”

“Something tells me you weren't being paid to stalk my kids. Maybe me. But not my kids. Whatever told you that was a good idea? Everything that you've heard about me. Everything you obviously saw me do in Guatemala. What the hell ever told you it was a good idea to near my kids?”

“Money. It was all about the money.”

“Now normally I'd agree with you. Because I've done some questionable things to questionable people for money. Good money. But I've never, ever gone after kids. Unless I was saving them. So here lies the problem, mate. My kids are safe. Your people will never get to them. There's some pretty powerful people I've made friends with and they won't think about twice about killing whoever you got working with you. And your kids are still out there. Now I could say fuck it and just go home and keep letting you use your own kids. But we both know I'd never be able to live with myself if I did that. So I'm going to make this easy on you. You tell me where your kids are, and maybe, just maybe, I won't hurt you nearly as much as I plan to.”

“I'll never tell you where they are. And you'll never find them on your own.”

“Oh you'll tell me. Eventually. Because I've got a lot of tricks up my sleeve to get you to talk. But first things first...” he stands up, using his foot to move the chair out of the way. “...out of sheer curiosity, just what were you planning on doing to my kids? Because I'd like to hear it. I'd like you to tell me what you had in mind. So I can judge just how bad I make things for you.”

“Nothing. We weren't planning on doing anything to your kids. We were just going to grab them and hold onto them for a while.”

“You said nothing but that's something, innit?” Tyler moves behind the chair McMann is restrained in, and he holds the box cutter close to the man's ear, repeatedly opening and closing the blade. “Grabbing them is something. Michael....I don't think you want to be fucking with me right now. You're not in the position to be fucking with anybody. See, I know guys like you. A lot of guys like you actually. I've had to get people away from guys like you. I'm going to ask you again. I'm going to give you a chance to tell me the truth. What were you planning on doing to my kids?”

“I wasn't planning on doing anything to them.”

“Aww mate...come on...” Tyler chuckles. “...maybe you weren't personally planning on doing something, but the people you have working for you were. You're the one who told them what to do right? You're the one who planned it, yeah?”

McMann refuses to respond.

“I asked you a fucking question,” Tyler snags him by the hair once more, yanking his head back with enough force to crack his neck. “You're the one who planned things?”

He swallows noisily and nods.

“What did you tell them to do to my kids?”

“I told them to kill the big one if they had to. The Indian kid. I knew he'd fight. I knew he wouldn't let the little ones go easily. So I told them to kill him. And his girlfriend. That way we could just get your kids without any problems.”

“First of all, his name isn't 'Indian Kid'. His name is Ovi. And he's got more balls in his little finger than you have in your entire body. Second, I'm proud of you. For not pissing me off enough to take an ear off. I'm going to ask you again. What were you planning on doing to my kids?”

“I'm not saying anything else. I'm not saying shit. You don't have the balls to go through with this. You just want to scare me into giving you what you want.”

“Mate, do you really want to test me right now? Do you really want to see if I have balls or not? Because I'm all out of patience here. I'm all out of fucks, like my wife would say. So...” he tightens his grip on McMann's hair, yanking his head to the side and then pressing the tip of the box cutter blade into the skin below his ear. Enough to break the surface; a trickle of blood appearing. “...I'm going to ask you on more time. What were you going to do to my kids?”

McMann refuses to answer.

Tyler presses down harder; feeling the blade dig into the man's neck, his free hand still gripping McMann's hair. Using enough force to draw even more blood, feeling it drip down the box cutter and onto his own fingers; hot, smooth, the smell tangy and pungent. And it only encourages him even more. Kicking his adrenaline up another notch. And he slowly drags the blade along McMann's next, prolonging the pain, until the other man is screaming in pain and attempting to get away. Kicking his bound feet, trying to break the ties around his wrist, struggling to get away.

“Okay! Okay!” McMann finally relents. “I'll tell. I'll fucking tell you.”

“Now that wasn't too bad, was it?” Tyler asks, and cleans both his fingers and the box cutter off on the front of McMann's shirt. “You live to see another day. For now. So, tell me...” he uses his forearm to clear sweat off his brow, then walks over to the cooler and grabs a bottle of water; tearing off the cap and downing half of it before returning to his chair. “...what did you tell them to do?”

“They were going to grab them. After they killed the big one and his girlfriend. They were going to hold them somewhere. Like I did with my kids. Everything was going to be the same. The duct tape, the zip ties, everything. They were going to rough them up a bit...”

“You told your people...grown men...to beat on my kids?” The fury is instant. All consuming. “Is that what you're telling me? That you told adults to put hands on them? The oldest is five. The youngest is ten months. And you told people to beat on them?”

McMann nods, tears sparkling in his eyes.

“Don't cry now, mate. Tears won't work on me. They aren't going to save you. And I know those tears aren't for my kids. You told adults...men...to beat on my kids?”

“I just told you....”

“Now we have a real problem,” Tyler leans forward in his seat, elbows on his knees. “If you'd just said you told them to grab them and hold them somewhere, I wouldn't be as mad as I am right now. I could have probably kept it together when you mentioned the duct tape and zip ties. But you actually told people to put their hands on my kids. That...well that I can't forgive....so....” he jumps to his feet, then heads back to the weapons table. “...I don't think a box cutter is going to quite cut it this time....this calls for something a little...I don't know...worse.”

He selects the crow bar, then decides against it and puts it back. Opting for the pliers instead.

“My daughter,” he says, as he walks back towards McMann. “Well I think you know what I'm going to ask you next. Did you tell them to do anything else to my daughter? Like what happened to that Erin girl? Did you tell any of them to do something like that to my little girl?”

“No. I'd never suggest something like that. I'm a lot of things, but I'd never, ever, allow that.”

“You're lucky I believe you, Michael. You know how Erin was a message? To me? Well I'm going to send a message to your people. To your wife.”

“What kind of message? What the hell are you doing with those? What...?”

“I want them to know that I have you. And that I'm going to keep sending little pieces of you until I get what I want. So...” Tyler once more stands behind the metal chair. “...we can either do this the easy way or the hard way. Which one do you want?”

“What's the easy way?”

“Easy way is you just sit there and open your mouth for me and I take out a few of your teeth. With these,” he waves the pliers in McMann's face, and the man immediately reacts; panic and terror surging through him, screams and profanities flying out of his mouth as he struggles against his bonds. “Hard way, huh?” 

Tyler shrugs, then wraps an arm around McMann's throat; squeezing as hard as he can; muscles bulging, veins prominent. Stronger and bigger than the other man, easily able to hold his head still with such a powerful grip, and he shoves the pliers past the other man's teeth, until he's hitting the back molars and clamping down on one, yanking it clear out of the gum. Tightening his hold when McMann fights even harder; choking and gagging on his own blood and saliva and the gradual collapsing on his windpipe. Sweat forming on his own brow and trickling down his temples; dripping into his eyes as he removes two more teeth before gradually releasing the pressure on McMann's throat.

“You're fucking crazy,” McMann pants; his face near purple, a mixture of sweat, saliva, and blood trickling down his chin and onto his shirt. “Insane. You're fucking insane.”

“Maybe,” Tyler says, as he pockets the teeth and cleans the pliers off on the thigh of his jeans “But you fucked with the wrong man's family. And I'm going to make you pay. A little bit at a time. So get comfy. Because you're not going anywhere for a while.”

****

He stops at a gas station and uses their restroom; washing the bloods, saliva, and spit off of his arms and hands. He changes his clothes, pulling on a fresh pair of jeans, clean t-shirt, and a pair of flip flops, and discarding the others in the trash can. Esme hadn't been awake when he'd left that morning, so there would be no need to explain why he'd left in one outfit and returned in another. He searches the cabinet under sink; locating an extra garbage bag and stashing the hoodie into it and his boots into it. Those things he can clean later. 

He's back at the hotel before nine am. Finding Tanis once more sitting in the hallway with her back against the door, this time with a large, leather bound novel resting against her thighs. They don't exchange words; barely a glance in each other's direction as she forcefully snaps the cover of the book closed and silently gets to her feet, stomping down the hall towards her own room.

The bed is empty; sheets rumpled, covers thrown back. The sliding door that leads out onto the balcony is open, allowing fresh air into the room, and he can see her sitting in one of the chairs. Still in the clothes she'd worn to bed, with her back towards the room and the sunlight making that red hair dye sparkle and shimmer. He moves quietly through the room; locking the garbage bag with the boots and the hoodie in it in the closest that he'd used to store the bag of weapons and ammunition. In the bathroom he checks every inch of his forearms and hands for even the smallest remnants of blood; scrubbing his fingers with so much force he almost reopens the slowly healing wounds on his knuckles.

As he reaches for a towel, he catches sight of his reflection in the mirror. Noticing the deep creases in his brow, the darkness in his eyes, how tight his jaw is clenched. He'd been riding on pure adrenaline and rage back at the storage facility; yet fully aware of the things he was saying and doing. And while the former has passed, the latter lingers. Running on a slow boil right under the surface. Yet he feels nothing. No shame. No disgust. No remorse. His heart and his conscience as empty as the look in his eyes.

He slips his sunglasses back on before heading outside to join her. It's sunny out; she won't question him about leaving them on and he'll be able to hide that 'look' from her. The emptiness. She'd notice it right away; she was always talking about how all of his emotion and a lot of communication came from the eyes. There'd be no way of hiding something like that from her. She'd known as soon as she looked at him that something was wrong. That something very, very bad had gone down.

“Hey,” he greets, as he steps out onto the balcony.

She tips her head back to smile up at him, using her hand to shield her eyes from the sun. “Hi.”

He lays a hand on her back, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her lips. 

“Where did you disappear to? I heard you leave really early and you're just getting back now?”

Fuck. He had been one hundred percent certain that she'd been fast asleep.

“Mark and the guys were having some issues with McMann. He needed someone to provide a little extra muscle.”

The lie rolls easily off his tongue. A little too easily. 

“I bet McMann was thrilled to see you,” Esme scoffs. “You're his favourite person, after all.”

“Yeah,” he rubs at the back of his head and drops into the chair beside her. “I didn't make him too happy, that's for sure. You're actually eating,” he nods down at the plate of food in her lap; a wide assortment of fresh fruit.

“I don't know how much of it will stay down, but I've only puked twice this morning so far, so that's a good sign.”

He nods in agreement.

“Nik called when you were out. She said she couldn't get a hold of you on your cell or on the SAT.”

“Yeah, I blocked her. On both.”

Esme arches an eyebrow. “Why?”

“She annoys the shit out of me. This isn't even her job anymore. It was never her job in the first place. She needs to stay the fuck out of things.”

“I'm actually kind of glad she can't get a hold of you. I'm kind of tired of always worrying about her motives when it comes to you. I highly doubt every time she calls you or texts you, she has business in mind.”

“Let it go, Esme. There's nothing between Nik and I. There hasn't been in years. Since I met you.”

“You're not the problem. It's her. Like, go and find someone else's husband to lust over and pine over. One that doesn't four kids and one on the way.”

“Just ignore her. She's not a threat. I've told you that a million times. I'm not going to cheat. She can ask me a million times and the answer is always going to be the same. So stop worrying so much about her. Maybe she'll calm down now that she's seeing Mark. Or whatever the hell you want to call it.”

“Well she can have him. Good riddance to old rubbish.”

“What did she want?”

“She just said she'd be arriving around noon. And that you and her needed to talk. She didn't sound very happy with you. What did you do?”

Tyler shrugs. “She's probably got some other job she wants me to do...”

“Yeah,” Esme snorts. “Like her.”

“...or she's pissed this one is taking so long.”

“Would you take it? If she offered another one?”

“I'm already on a job.”

“But if she could talk you into it. Would you abandon this one and take another one on?”

“No. Because I already told you that this was my last one. There's not going to be any other jobs. This is it. This is the end of the line. I promised you it would be, and I'm not going back on that promise,” he reaches out and lays a hand on the back of her neck, softly kneading the tense muscles. “We talked about this,” he gently reminds her. “I told you that this is the last one.”

“You've said that before. A handful of times.”

“Well, I mean it this time. I am tired of this life. Just as much as you are. It's time to move on. And I want us to do that together, not apart.”

She smiles at that, and he leans sideways in his chair to press a kiss to her temple.

He reaches for her hand, lacing his fingers with hers, bringing them up to his lips and kissing the inside of her wrist.

“We're going to be okay,” he says, finally feeling optimistic. “I promise.”


	47. Chapter 47

The text message arrives shortly before one thirty in the afternoon. The rattle of the phone as it vibrates against the nightstand jarring Tyler from peaceful slumber. Hypervigilance the shrink had called it once. One of the many symptoms of his PTSD. He'd always attributed it to being on the job for so long; the ability to go from deep sleep to an almost extreme state of alertness in the blink of an eye. His brain and body on edge; always on the outlook for dangers; whether visible or not. It had always come in handy when out on a job; he was able to quickly detect any sort of threat and determine if it was valid or not. Within the last two years though, waking has often been a harrowing experience; everything and everyone around him a possible danger, anxiety already sitting on his chest and threatening to suffocate him, a cold sweat covering him from head to toe. Many times one of the kids has jumped a little too hard on the bed and he's bolted awake, a hand ready to grab whoever was next to him or a fist cocked ready to defend himself. It had never gotten that far, thankfully. Awareness settling in before anything horrible could happen. 

He'd never forgive himself; if he hurts his own kids because his brain is fucked up and beyond repair. 

Today it isn't bad. His reaction isn't extreme; no pounding heart, no sweats, no desire to rip somebody apart. There's more annoyance than anything. It had been one of the best -if not the best- sleep he'd had in weeks, if not months. Not demons to fight in his dreams, no memories of Dhaka, no replay of what he'd done only hours before. His body and his mind temporarily shutting down; flat on his back with his wife between his legs, fast asleep with her stomach pressed against him, her head on his chest. It had been intimacy in it's purest and most innocent form; long, slow, sweet kisses that didn't develop into anything more, whispered conversations about not just their worries and their fears, but future plans, declarations of love, promises that everything was going to be okay. That they were going to be okay. And he'd wrapped his arms around and held her as tight as her little body would allow him to, eyes closed as he relaxed in the warmth that radiated off of her, the scent that lingered in her hair. 

He reaches for his phone, careful not to wake her. This pregnancy is already proving to be the most difficult one out of the three she's already been through; the all day sickness much more severe and accompanied by near crippling exhaustion. The stress isn't helping of course. The constant state of worry and panic that she always seems to be operating in. But for now she's peaceful. Her back rising and falling with each soft breath, hair falling over her eyes, a slight smile curving her lips. She's relaxed. Safe. Secure. Protected. And his mind is comforted by that. That despite all of their issues, all of the fights, all of the harsh words, all the ultimatums, she still is able to feel that with him. 

He has to change. Staying the same isn't an option. And neither is losing his family.

We got trouble, Yaz' text reads. N is here. Pissed. Get here. ASAP.

“Fuck me,” Tyler mutters, and drops the phone onto the mattress. Yet he isn't filled with a sense of urgency. In no hurry to either respond to the text or get to the storage facility. There isn't much that Nik can do. Not even she will step on the toes of the IRA, and she knows that Tyler himself will be a force to be reckoned with if she even so as much -in the slightest- puts his children further at risk. And if she knows what's good for her, she'll just walk away entirely and pretend she never saw a damn thing. 

He doesn't want to move. The mixture of the earlier Valium with the most recent pain meds he'd taken have his body at ease; the pain is minor, a dull yet bearable ache just under the shoulder blade, the right knee and back both stiff, but manageable. And he closes his eyes once more; a hand falling on the top of Esme's head, softly running his palm over her hair before it settles in the middle of her back. She stirs against him, mumbling in her sleep and rubbing her cheek against his t-shirt, yet eyes never opening. She looks even younger when she's asleep; ends of her eyelashes brushing against the tops of her cheeks, skin pale and soft -those freckles across her nose more noticeable thanusual-, a soft smile curving her lips. And she seems even smaller than normal; fragile even. Even though she's anything but. He'd made that mistake once. In Dhaka. Assuming she was weak and fragile and needed someone to handle her problems. And she'd quickly let him know just how badly he'd underestimated her.

His phone vibrates again and he groans in protest, scooping it up off of the mattress.

Put your dick back in your pants and get here now

He smirks at that, then sets the phone down once again and presses the heels of his palms into his eyes, laying there for several more minutes, summoning up the energy and the desire to actually move. What he wouldn't give to just stay there; fall back asleep with her body tucked so securely against him, both of them temporarily at peace. No worry, no stress, no arguments brought on by the two. No raised voices or harsh words. No tension. No threat to their marriage. It's not the first time he's felt as if things are falling apart; he was certain during their six months apart that things were over and it was a waiting game when it came to when the divorce papers would arrive. But even then she'd given him a second chance. Or was it a third chance that time? Maybe even a fourth? This time he truly feels that he's all out of chances. That's he used up his last one and all that is left is true change. And the effort that has to go into it.

He runs both of his hands up and down her back and presses a kiss to the top of her head, reluctant to wake her up. “Baby...” he combs his fingers through her hair; clearing her bangs off of her forehead. “...Esme....baby....wake up....”

“No,” she pouts, voice childlike. “You can't make me.”

“Well I could make you. But I don't really want to have to resort to that.”

“I said no. I'm not moving. I'm not letting you leave.”

“Babe, I need you to wake up. Or at least get off me.”

“No,” she refuses once more, nuzzles her face even tighter into his chest, hands tightly gripping the sides of his t-shirt. “You're staying right here. Where you belong. With me. You're not allowed to go anywhere.”

“What if I have to take a leak?” he challenges.

“I heard your phone. I know you don't have to go the bathroom. So I'm not moving. I'm not letting you leave. I'm tired of you leaving all the time. Why can't you just stay? Why can't we just have this? These kinds of moments?”

“We'll have tons of these moments when this is all over.”

“When? We have four kids. And one on the way.”

“We'll find time to have them,” he assures her. “But right now? Right now I need you to get off me. Please.”

“You suck,” she mutters, and rolls off of him. “You're the worst.”

“But you love me.”

“Maybe,” she singsongs, and then yawns.

“Well, I love you,” he leans over her, places a kiss to her lips. “You don't get a say in that.”

She smiles, then reaches up and lays a hand on the side of his face, running her thumb over the scruffiness of his beard. “Is everything okay? Who was it?”

“There's some issues. With McMann.”

“And that's your problem how?”

“They need me to come help straighten him out.”

“They're Marines. They're more than capable of handling things.”

“Yeah, well he's scared of me, so....” he kisses her once last time, then gives her a wink and climbs off the bed.

“He should be,” she says, as she rolls over onto her stomach, frowning when he shoves his feet into a pair of flip flops. “Where's your boots?”

“In the closet. I have to clean them when I get back.”

“Why would you lock them in the closet?”

He shrugs, silently cursing himself for not taking care of things early. This all could have been avoided had he just cleaned the goddamn things when he'd first got back. “I dunno. I guess I just did it and wasn't thinking about it. I'll take care of them later.”

“I can do it if you want,” she offers. “As nasty as your boots smell, I've cleaned worse. I have three boys. It doesn't get any more nasty than those three.”

“Just leave them. They're gross. I've got shit all over them.”

She scrunches up her nose. “Like literally or figuratively?”

“Literally,” he lies. “So I'd rather you not deal with something like that, okay?”

“Okay,” she agrees. “Are you going to kick his ass?”

“If I have to.”

“Is it wrong that it makes me wet when I think about you beating the hell out of people? Or getting all aggressive and mean with someone?”

“Well, you like it when I get all aggressive and mean with you, so...”

“My hormones are all over the place. Just so you know. Even seeing your ass in those jeans does me in. Guess I'll just have to have some fun by myself while you're gone. A little solo studying time.”

He groans inwardly. “I'm going to have that stuck in my head now. The thought of you 'studying'.”

“Don't worry, baby. I promise I'll only think about you when I'm studying.”

“You're evil,” he declares, and stands at the side of the bed, pushing his hand through her hair and tightly gripping those soft, red tresses as he kisses her. Hard. Intense. A toe curling kind of kiss that he knows she'll feel for quite a while.

“And you call me evil,” she huffs, as he heads for the door. “I love you. And lust you. Just so you know.”

He grins. “I love you. And lust you, too.”

****

“What...the...fuck...” 

That is how Nik greets him, already at the side of the SUV before he even climbs out. Hands on her hips, eyes blazing, mouth set in a grim line. Quite the contrast against the dreary, filthy backdrop of the industrial area in her wedge heels, well tailored black slacks, and low cut red blouse. 

The look he gives her must speak volumes, as she takes three steps backwards, giving him both the space to throw open the door, and some breathing room. 

“Hey to you, too, Nik,” he responds, and uses his hip to shut the door. “What's up?”

“You damn well know what's up,” she snarls. “What the hell is this?” her hand wildly gestures towards the building. “Just what the hell is this?!”

“It's none of your business is what it is,” he attempts to step past her, but she grabs a hold of his forearm, nails digging into his skin.

Scowling, he sighs heavily and glances down at the hold she has on him, then back up into her eyes.

She gets the message, quickly removing her hand, and she hurries to keep up with him as he heads through the front gate. “What the hell is wrong with you? Why would you do this? What would make you resort to something like this?”

“Go back to Colorado, Nik. This has nothing to do with you.”

“It has everything to do with me. You work for me. You're associated with me. With my business. You're mine and....”

“I'm yours?” he scoffs. “The ring on my finger says I belong to someone else. You don't own me. This job never belonged to you. You just took it upon yourself to get involved. Because for some reason you can't seem to leave me the fuck alone. What's your issue? Is it a crush? Love? Obsession?”

“Get over yourself, Tyler.”

“I'm the one who turned you down. Several times. Or are you forgetting that? So you get over yourself. Leave me alone, Nik. This doesn't involve you. It never has.”

“It involved me the second you asked me for my help,” she reminds him. “When McMann showed up in Colorado and you were suspicious of him. You asked me to look into it. You asked me if I had someone tailing you and I said no and then you asked me for my help.”

“For your help. Not to just show up here and try and take things over. This? What's going on here? Has nothing to do with you? And why aren't you in Colorado? Why aren't you at my place, keeping an eye on things?”

“Maybe because you went behind my back and sent Ovi and Chloe away with the kids. You took it upon yourself to screw everything up and...”

No,” he snarls, and abruptly turns on his heel, fixing her in an steely gaze. “I took it upon myself to protect my family. Because you and your people couldn't do their goddamn job properly. Why did you lie to me, Nik? Every fucking time I asked you if things were okay at home, you told me that things were fine. That there was nothing to worry about. I had to find out through Ovi just what was going on. The phone calls, the pictures, the guys that came right to the house. Why didn't you tell me about any of that?'

“I didn't see a reason to.”

“You didn't see a reason to tell me that people were threatening my family? That people were out there watching my kids? That they were showing up at my house, where my kids live? You should have told me right when it started happening. So I could have...”

“So you could have what? Ditched everything and come home? And what could would that have done? The job wasn't finished.”

“Fuck the job!” Tyler snarls. “My family comes before the job, Nik.”

“Since when? You've been putting the job first for the last four years. It's always come first. The job. And if you say it hasn't, you're either in denial or you're a goddamn liar. You like to think you're all about the family life. That you're a family man first and mercenary second. But that's bullshit and you know it. You are who you are, Tyler. You can deny it all you want.”

He shakes his head, nostrils flaring. “You have no fucking clue what you're talking about.”

“You left your wife when she was pregnant with twins. When she was having problems. Serious problems. You left her for the job. When she needed you the most. But that's a theme in your life, isn't it. Leaving the people you love when they need you the most.”

“That is way of fucking line, Nik, and you know it.”

“I knew if I told you about what was happening in Colorado, you'd be on the next flight home. And I needed you to stay here. To get the job done. To find those kids. I also knew that if you came home, that target on your kids' backs would have gotten ever bigger. You being with them would have only made things worse. McMann is...was....after you. And if you went home to your kids, McMann would have followed you and you would have put your kids in even more danger.”

“They're safer with me than they are with complete strangers!”

“Tyler, these people are dangerous. More dangerous than anyone you have ever dealt with before. When they got to you...and they would have...they wouldn't have just killed you. They would have done horrible, horrible things to your kids. While you watched. And then they would have killed them. Right in front of you. And they wouldn't kill you until everyone else you loved was already dead.”

He sighs, then pushes his hands through his hair and leans back against the wall next to the storage locker, feet crossed, arms folded across his chest, eyes downcast. 

“And then you sent Ovi away with those kids. Which was the worst thing you could have done. Because now I have no idea where they are. I can't send anyone to watch them.”

“They're safe,” he says. “In a different state.”

“Where? Where are they? Because they're not safe on their own. Ovi doesn't stand a chance and you know that. What the hell were you thinking? Wait, you weren't. Because you don't use your head anymore. You use your heart. Which is a big fucking mistake in the job and you know that.”

“My kids aren't a job, Nik. My kids are my heart. And maybe if you had kids of your own...”

Her eyes narrow. “You are not going there with this. You're not going to play dirty. Not with me.”

“You're going to lecture me about playing dirty? When you've been after me for the past five and half years to cheat on my wife with you? Now that's rich. You standing there trying to act like you have some moral superiority over me. I was never going to say yes, Nik. It was never going to happen. And you kept pushing and pushing. You never left me alone. You still don't. No matter how many times I tell you to back off.”

“That's not what this is about and you know it.”

“Now seems like as good as time as any, don't you think? You need to back off, Nik. You're my friend. That's it. You're never going to be anything more than that. That ship sailed a long time ago. You need to leave me alone. I don't want you texting me, I don't want you calling me, I don't want you showing up at my hotel when I'm on a job. I want you to stay away from me. Unless it's business.”

She blinks. “That seems a little....extreme.”

“I'm a married man, Nik. I've been married for five and a half years. And you act like it's nothing. Like it means nothing to me. It means everything to me. I'm trying to keep my family together and you're hell bent on tearing it apart. Back off. I don't know how much plainer I have to be. It's never going to happen.”

She inhales sharply. “If that's the way you want it...”

“That's exactly the way I want it. I'm trying to hold my marriage together. Desperately. This job is tearing Esme and I apart. All the goddamn promises that I made her. When I told her that this life was behind me and I'd never get back into it. I went back on everything single fucking promise I made. And she put up with it. She still kept giving me chance, after chance, after chance. I can't do that to her anymore. Because I keep doing this...the job...I'm going to lose her. I'm going to lose everything. And all the money in the world isn't worth that.”

“So you're walking away,” Nik concludes.

“When this job is over...when I find those kids.....that's it. I'm done. I can't do this anymore, Nik. This life. My family deserves better than this. I'm tired. Physically. Mentally. I'm fucking tired and I'm done.”

“So what is this then?” she nods towards the open door. “What you're doing here? What you're doing to McMann? What is this Tyler? You wanted to go out with a big bang?”

“I'm doing what I need to do. For my family.”

“You drugged, kidnapped, and tortured a man. You became one of the people you've always fought against. You've become of the people you used to save people from.”

“I'm nothing like any of those people and you know it.”

Nik stares at him pointedly. “You sliced a man's throat with a box cutter.”

“I barely broke the surface. Is he breathing? Did he bleed to death? Then I didn't slit his damn throat.”

“You pulled three of his teeth out with a pair of pliers.”

Tyler shrugs. “I was going to go for four, but it seemed a little overkill.”

“What is going on with you?” her voice is softer now. Concerned. “This isn't you. You've never been like this. You've never gotten yourself caught up in something like this. In revenge.”

“He threatened my family,” he vehemently reasons. “My kids, Nik. He was near my kids.”

“A bullet to the head would have been a better way to go. Why didn't you just do that? If you're just going to kill him anyway...”

“He deserves to suffer, Nik. Do you know what he was going to do Esme if he'd caught her at the house? Do you know what he told his people to do to Ovi and Chloe? To my kids? I do. He told me everything. Every sick and twisted thing that he and his people were going to do. A bullet in the head is too good for that guy. It's too easy. He deserves so much more than that.”

“This stops, Tyler. This stops now.”

He shakes his head. 

“You need to get a grip on yourself,” she orders. “You're losing it. You've been losing it for a while now and I always gave you the benefit of the doubt that you'd pull yourself together. This has gone too far. You've gone too far.”

“You need to go, Nik. Just turn around and walk away.”

“And watch you destroy yourself? Watch you become someone I don't recognize anymore?”

“I'm not your problem. I never have been. Just go. Walk away now and you don't have to have this on your conscience.”

“But it's okay for you to have it on yours?” she counters. “Does Esme know about this? About what you're doing here?”

“No. And she doesn't need to know.”

“So you're not only lying to yourself, you're lying to her. About who you've become. And yet you have the nerve to accuse me of trying to tear your marriage apart.”

“You've been wanting to fuck me for five and a half years. Knowing I have a wife. So yeah. I am accusing you of that.”

“You're keeping something like this from her? What do you think is going to happen when she finds out? Not just that you lied, but what you did. What you're capable of.”

“She knows what I'm capable of. She saw it for herself in Dhaka. A job you dragged her into. You and some stupid fucking plan.”

“That stupid fucking plan worked. Until Mahajan Senior screwed us. And that stupid fucking plan gave you a second chance at life. It lead you to the love of your life. You have children because of that stupid fucking plan. It's because of that plan...because of me...that you have what you have.”

“And what? I'm supposed to show how grateful I am by fucking you on the down low? That's how you wanted me to repay you?”

“If you lose everything now, that's all on you, Tyler. If you go through with this...with what you're doing to McMann...she will find out and she will leave you. Because you'll be the man she's always feared you could become. She'll leave and she'll take those kids. And you'll be lucky if you ever see them again.”

“She's pregnant,” he blurts out, and Nik closes her eyes briefly and inhales sharply one again.

“Please tell me you're not serious right now,” she pleads.

“We just found out. A couple of days ago. We're not sure how far along she is. Probably a couple of months.”

“What is wrong with you two? Is that all you do with your spare time? Make babies? Is that all you know how to do? Get her pregnant?”

He smirks. “Maybe we just like to fuck.”

Her lips twitch with the hint of her own smirk. “You couldn't be more careful while you're fucking? I thought Declan was it? The last one?”

“We changed our minds. Figured one more wouldn't hurt.”

“Hell of a time for there to baby on the way, don't you think?”

“It happens when it happens, Nik. We didn't exactly plan it this way.”

She nods slowly, hands on her hips. “You send her back home. Tomorrow. First flight you can get.”

“That's not going to happen.”

“Tyler, this isn't a safe place for her to be. Especially now. You don't know how many people McMann has out there. And if you're going to be out looking for those kids....”

“And she's safe back home? With people I don't even know watching over her? Fuck that. She's safer with me than anyone else and you know it.”

“If you're out looking for those kids and eventually extracting them, you won't be around to protect her,” Nik points out.

“Mark's got someone watching her. A Marine.”

“Yet you won't trust the people I have?”

“With all due respect, Nik, but you hired Jason Andrews' brother without even knowing it and that's why McMann is after me in the first place. So no. I don't trust the people you have. She stays here. With me. And if I have to go to New Zealand...”

Nik arches an eyebrow. “New Zealand? What...?”

“...she'll come with me there, too. Where I go, she goes. That's just the way it is.”

“That's asking for trouble and you know it.”

“I'm the only one she trusts. I'm the only one that makes her feel safe. I'm not sending her home. There's no way. Go back to Colorado, Nik. Or better yet, go to Oklahoma. Find Ovi and my kids. You put them in this fucking situation when you hired Andrews' brother. You fucking get them out of it.”

“Tyler...” she attempts to stop him before he steps into the storage unit.

“Goodbye, Nik,” he says, and slams the door down behind him.

****

“Hey look who it is, Mike!” Nathan calls out as Tyler enters the storage unit. “Your favourite person!”

“Fuck you,” McMann mumbles, and then spits in Tyler's direction. “And fuck you too, Rake.”

“He's a little mad at you,” the young Marine grins, as he sits mere feet from the captive man, his long legs stretched out, hands behind his head. “I think he was really fond of those teeth you took.”

“You take care of things?” Yaz asks from the other side of the room, immersed in his laptop.

“I don't know how well I took care of them, but yeah, I took care of them. What's going Michael? You been a good boy? You been behaving yourself for my mates here? I know our date isn't planned for later tonight, but I missed you and thought I'd come see you. What happened here?” he roughly grabs a hold of McMann's chin and tilts his head to the side. “That's a hell of a shiner you got there. Trip and fall on the way to take a piss again?”

Yaz chuckles.

McMann scowls. “That little asshole pushed me and he knows it!”

“Naw,” Tyler shakes his head. “Yaz wouldn't do that. Yaz is a pacifist.”

“Yeah,” the man in question snorts. “As in I'd like to pass a fist across his face.”

“I'd like to fucking see you try!” McMann snarls.

“Easy now...easy now...” Tyler lets go of the man's chin, then gives him a shot in the mouth with the back of his hand; the knuckles catching him in the top lip and easily splitting it. “...don't talk to my mates like that. So what have you boys been up to?” he asks, as he snags a bottle of water from one of the coolers and pulls up a plastic chair. “You been keeping Michael company? Keeping him out of trouble?”

“He's been a real fucking delight,” Nathan chuckles. “He speaks very highly of you.”

“I bet he does. We're close to being best mates now aren't we?” he kicks at McMann's shins, hard enough to make him wince. 

“You're a prick,” McMann responds. “And when you're dead, I'll be the first one to come spit on your grave. Then go to your place and fuck your pretty little wife.”

“Bruh...” Yaz shakes his head. “...you should have just left it at 'spit on your grave'.”

“She'd probably like that, wouldn't she,” McMann continues. “Finally a real man showing her how things are done.”

Tyler smirks, then calmly places the bottle of water on the ground and stands up, slowly making his way over the restrained man. Then stands above him; a towering, intimidating figure. And when he sees that little glitter of fear in the other man's eyes, he snatches him by the throat, fingers firmly pressing into either side of his windpipe. 

“Remember,” Yaz doesn't even look up from his laptop. “You can't kill him.”

“I'm not going to kill him. He's got a long way to go before anyone kills him,” Tyler tightens his grip on McMann's throat, until his face begins to turn a vivid shade of red and he's gasping for breath. “Don't you talk about my wife like that,” his voice is calm, yet his eyes give away the depth and the power of the rage that inhabits his body. “Don't you ever talk about her like that.” 

“If you can't already tell, he's a little sensitive when it comes to his wife.” Yaz says. “But you just keep opening your goddamn mouth about her. Doesn't he Nathan?”

The young Marine nods. “Wouldn't shut up about her earlier.”

“Oh really?” Tyler looses his grip on McMann's throat, their eyes remaining locked on one another. “What was he saying?”

“I don't know if we should tell you,” Nathan says. “You might get upset. Well, more upset than you are right now.”

“Maybe he hasn't lost enough teeth yet,” Yaz suggests.

“I'll let him keep his teeth. For now. So what were you saying, Michael? About my wife.”

“Nothing! They're fucking lying!”

“You blokes wouldn't lie to me about something like that, would you?” Tyler asks, looking between the other two men, both shaking their heads. “They definitely would not lie to me. Especially about something like that. So tell me. What did you say about her?”

“Thinks she's a nice piece of ass,” Nathan chimes in. “Say he wouldn't mind tying her up and having his way with her.”

“I did not fucking say that!” McMann exclaims. “I haven't said shit about her!”

“Said he wouldn't mind fucking her in all her holes.” Yaz adds. “And I wouldn't lie about that shit.”

“Michael...” Tyler shakes his head. “....you really don't know when to keep your mouth shut, do you. I thought we were mates. Buddies. Why would you say shit like that? About my wife? Unlike the psycho bitch you're married to, my wife is innocent in all of this.”

“How can anyone be innocent being married to a prick like you?” he retorts. “Must be something fucked up in her head in she stays with you! What's your secret? Beat the shit out of her to make her stay? Make her too scared too leave? No way someone like her is staying with someone like you.”

“See, I don't have to resort to shit like that. Maybe that's your way of doing things. You like to beat on women, don't you. Among other things. Which already makes me want to break your fucking neck. Now I find out you're saying things about my wife? This isn't going to be a good day for you, Michael. But I'll be nice. I'll let you keep the rest of your teeth. For now,” he heads over to the table holding the weapons. “You left handed or right handed?”

“What?”

“It's a simple goddamn question. Are you right handed or left handed?”

“Right. Why? What are you going to do? What...?” his eyes widen as Tyler returns with a hunting knife. 

“That's a shame. I guess you're either going to have to learn with your left or you're going to have to improvise with the right. Yaz, you look busy. Maybe Nathan will help me out.”

“My pleasure,” the Marine says, and jumps to his feet. “What'cha need?”

Tyler smirks, then runs a finger along the sharp edge of the knife. “You ever hold a man down while someone cuts off a couple fingers?”

“No,” Nathan calmly rolls up his sleeves. “But I guess there's a first time for everything.”


	48. Chapter 48

An incessant knock at the door rouses her from her sleep, and she groans in protests as she rolls over onto her back and stares up at the cove ceiling. She's unsure of how much time has passed since Tyler left to attend to the drama with McMann, but the sun has changed positions and is now at full force as it streams through the window and onto the bed. She presses the heels of her palms on her eyes in an attempt to both clear the sleep out of them and rid her brain of some of the lingering fogginess. Hoping that if she stays as motionless and as silent as possible, whoever is trying to contact her will just go away. She's exhausted; a fatigue that she's come to recognize as a late first trimester side effect. With each of her pregnancies it had set in at the same; somewhere between the middle and the end of the second month. She does the math in her head; figuring out the exact dates that conception was the most possible. He'd just gotten back from El Salvador; a simple (for once) in and out assassination of a known human trafficker. Sarge had picked the kids up for a rare weekend at his and grandma's house, and he'd given her a wink as he'd teased her about being able to spend 'noisy adult time' with her frequently absent husband. Which they'd managed plenty of; wild and uninhibited, intense and passionate, often rough. And it was the first time in a long time that she had actually been ablemake the noises that she'd gotten so used to hiding behind her hand or a pillow. 

Condoms had become their go to for protection after Declan had been conceived when she was on the pill. And seeing as neither of them at the time had been one hundred sold on whether to have more children, that ruled out getting her tubes or a vasectomy for him, so something had to be used. So she thought they'd been careful.

Apparently not careful enough.

She places both hands on her stomach; still flat for now (aside from the baby weight she hasn't managed to lose since having Declan), but if her intuition, calculations, and pregnancy history were correct, she'd be just beginning to show around the beginning of the fifth month. It wouldn't be much; just a little bump that would be visible underneath tight fitting clothes. But it would seem much more real than it did right now; when all she had to show for growing a life inside of her was fatigue and horrible all day sickness. It was something she always marvelled at; the changes in her body as the weeks and months progressed, the way her hips and her breasts would fill out, the way her hair would become thicker and more vibrant, the way her skin seemed to glow. And it was always magical, no matter how many times she carried a life inside of her, to feel that little person moving around. The kicking and the squirming, the way -in the last trimester- you could sometimes see the entire outline of a hand or a foot when room was starting to run out and they had no more vacant space to move into. And above everything, she couldn't get enough of the way her husband 'softened' over the last three months; the way that big strong man would lie in bed at night with those calloused and battered hands resting on her belly, the most gentle smile curving his lips and the utmost excitement in his eyes every time the baby kicked or seemed to respond to his voice.

And she smiles as she thinks of those times past and those moments still to come. When they'd be in the comfort and security of their own home, back under the same roof as their children, finally able to relax and enjoy the new life that they'd be bringing into this world. Things would be different this time; he'd be around for the majority of the pregnancy, able to attend more appointments and ultrasounds, no going out of the country for extended periods of time, no worry every time the phone rang that he'd run off and put himself in danger. 

The knocking has ceased, and she once again closes her eyes, hands still on her stomach, attempting to fall back asleep once more. Sleep gave her the opportunity not to worry about him. The only time where she isn't stressed out and her mind is imagining all the worst case scenarios. And she feels as if she's just on the brink of sleep when she hears the faint scratching of a key card being slid through the security slot, followed by the click as the system unlocks the door. She quickly jumps off the bed, feeling temporarily dizzy as she scurries through the door; she'd put the chain lock and the deadbolt in place, exactly as he'd instructed her to do if he ever left her alone.

“Wait...wait...” she implores, and hurriedly draws back the chain and snaps open the bolt. “...usually you call when you're on your back so I know to unlock everything, why...”

She stops mid sentence when she comes face to face with Nik. The other woman's lips set in a grim line, dark eyes troubled, And immediately thinks the worst. All those times she's spent imaging that knock on the door; how Nik would be standing there with that exact same expression, preparing to give her devastating news.

“What happened?” she can't help the panic that settles into her voice. “Please tell me he's okay. Please tell me he's not...”

“Tyler's fine,” Nik assures her, yet her expression doesn't change. “I'm here to talk to you.”

“About?”

“About Tyler.”

Esme frowns. “Look, if you're here to tell me you've been fucking him and he's leaving me for you, I'll kill both of you. Just saying.”

“He would never do anything like that to you and you know. Can I come in? This is a conversation we need to have behind closed doors. This isn't something you want your neighbours hearing.”

She senses the dire importance in the other woman's voice, and then steps back and holds the door open, motioning for her to step into the room. Closing the door, she resets the chain and the deadbolt. Just in case.

“I heard the good news,” Nik says, as she surveys the room, hands on her slender hips, expression still cold and unnerving. “About the baby.”

“You talked to Tyler?”

“A little while ago. I ran into him. Where they're holding Michael McMann.”

“Yeah, he left a while ago. I guess Mark and his guys were having some issues with McMann and Tyler's the one that puts the most fear into him. Why were you there? Just checking up on things?”

“I guess you could say that.”

“Nik, what's going on? You seem...I don't know...pissed.”

“I'm just a little upset,” she admits. “About this whole situation. With McMann.”

“I know it's taking a long time. Especially to find out where the kids are. But we've been doing everything we can. We've been running intel around the clock and Yaz has tech in every possible place he can think of. And Tyler can't do much until he actually knows where the kids are, so...”

“Did you know?” Nik interrupts. 

“Know what?”

“About McMann. About where he is.”

“I know that Mark and his guys are holding him somewhere until the IRA makes up their mind. I know that they've been trying to get information out of him; about where his kids are.”

Nik's eyes narrow. “That's all you know?”

“”What more is there to know? That's all I've been told.”

“And who told you? About what was happening with McMann?”

“Tyler did. Why? Shouldn't have he? Was he supposed to keep a secret? Look, if you're pissed at him for telling me, he's been having a hard time...mentally...since McMann told him what he would have done to me had his people caught me. He's been having real low moments and he's just not himself, Nik. He's obsessing over things and he misses the kids and he hasn't been taking his meds and....”

“Esme....” she begins, choosing her words carefully. “...what am I about to tell you? I'm not doing this to upset you. Or hurt you. And the last thing I want to do is cause problems for you or that baby. Because you're my friend and I love you and...”

“I love you, too. I know we have our problems, but...”

“....I need to stay as calm as you can. Can you do that for me?”

“You can't expect me to be calm when you have that tone in your voice or that look in your eyes. What's going on? He is cheating on me, isn't he. That fucking bastard.”

“No. It's not that. Believe me when I say that Tyler would never, ever do that to you. And he's had the opportunities.”

“Thanks to you,” her tone is accusatory.

“And I'm sorry for that. I really am. For ever crossing those boundaries. But this something you need to hear. Something that is far worse than the thought of him cheating on you, believe me.”

“Okay...” she crosses her arms over her chest. “....what the hell has he done?”

“You honestly do not know anything else about McMann and what's been happening to him?”

She shakes her head. “Just what I told you. I don't have a reason to know.”

“Actually, you do. Tyler hasn't been telling you the truth. About the McMann thing. About what really happened. About where he's being kept. And what's going on while he's being kept there.”

“Nik, what the hell are you talking about? What would Tyler have to lie about? So what if the Marines are holding this guy and maybe roughing him up now and then. He's a sick and twisted fuck nut that deserves a good beat down. You know what he said about me? What he would have done to me? How he would have made Tyler watch? That is sick shit. And he deserves to have his ass handed to him.”

“This goes way beyond someone having their 'ass handed to them'. I want you to look at something...” Nik pulls her phone out of the front pocket of her pants, tapping on the icon for her photo gallery and then scrolling through pictures before holding the phone out to Esme. “...just keep flipping through them.”

Sighing, Esme holds the phone in the palm of her hand; a frown spreading across her face at the first image. Of a man restrained in a folding metal chair; a heavy chain around his torso keeping him in place, hands restrained behind his back, ankles bound, a hood over his head. 

“That's Michael McMann,” Nik explains. “He's being held in a storage locker on the outskirts of town. In an industrial area. Do you know how he got there?”

“I know Tyler went to meet him and there was a plan arranged for Mark and his buddies to help grab him and that they were going to take him somewhere to hold him. I had no idea where.”

“He was drugged. Do you know who drugged him?

“How would I know? I wasn't even there. I just told you that I...”

“Tyler did. Tyler drugged him. And he could have killed him with how much he gave him.”

Her frown grows. “Where would Tyler get drugs from? He doesn't do drugs. He won't even take medication that's prescribed to him.”

“Billy Flynn gave them to him. That's where he met McMann. At Flynn's bar. Did you know that?”

She shakes her head.

“See this?” Nik uses her index finger to switch pictures. “That's Michael Flynn's throat. See how bruised it is? Someone just about snapped his windpipe. See the fingerprints on the side of his neck? That's when someone was choking him to restrain him. And this...” she brings up the next picture. “...is the inside of McMann's mouth. Someone pulled three of his molars out. With pliers.”

“Why are you showing me these?” Esme pushes the phone back into her friend's hands. “What does this have to with me?”

“It was Tyler. Tyler did these things.”

“What?” she can't help but laugh at the absurdness of it. “You're kidding, right? Tyler? My Tyler? He did all that?”

Nik nods.

“You're telling that my husband drugged someone, kidnapped them, and is holding them hostage...in order to torture them...in a storage locker?” 

“That's exactly what I'm telling you.”

“Do you realize how ridiculous that sounds? This has to be some kind of joke. Did Mark put you up to this? Because this is something Mark would do. This is the kind of sick shit he'd get off on. And I wouldn't put it past him to blame it on Tyler. There is no way my husband would do this. This is not who he is. He doesn't torture and maim people. He kills them;when he has to. But he doesn't do this,” she gestures towards the phone. “You know him, Nik. You've known him for even longer than I have. And you know that is not Tyler.”

“Esme, I would not come here and burden you with this. Especially now. Especially when there's a baby inside of you and I know you've had problems in the past with the others. But he won't listen to anyone. We've tried to talk him out of this. Mark, Yaz, myself. We've all tried. And he won't listen. He won't budge. Regardless of what McMann did, this...” Nik holds aloft her phone. “....this is not right. This should not be happening.”

“There's no way he would do all that,” Esme argues. “Not Tyler. He kills because he has to. Because it's either him or them. He doesn't do shit like this. That's not who he is and you know that.”

“You just said he's been having some issues. Mental ones.”

“Yeah, with his PTSD and not taking his meds. But he doesn't go Reservoir Dogs on someone because he's off his meds. He gets moody and depressed but he's more liable to kill himself than someone else. This he would not do. I know him, Nik. I know what he's like. Whether it's when he's at the highest of his highs or the lowest of his lows. And I know he would not do this. So I don't know who told you all of this; that he's doing this. But it's not him.”

“He told me, Esme. Tyler told me. After I heard it from Mark. It's why I came here. To confront Tyler. To try and talk some sense into him. He's not in his right mind. If he was, there's no way he would do this. You're my last resort. I wouldn't have to come to you and put this on you if I had another way of handling this.”

She doesn't know how she feels. Shocked? Numb? Disgusted even? None of it makes sense. None of it seems real. Even with the proof right there in those photographs. And she feels nauseous; the distinct burn of bile as it rises in her throat. “He would not do this,” she says, even though her gut knows it's true. That Nik would not do this to her; purposely make up something so outrageous just to hurt her. “Tyler would not do this.”

“He would. And he is. Are you okay? Do you need to sit down?”

“I don't know....” she admits, and lays a hand on her stomach. “....I don't know what I need to do.”

“Sit down,” Nik takes her by the arm and guides her towards the bed, still holding onto her as she lowers herself down onto the edge. “I'll get you some water. Just try and stay calm, okay?”

Esme nods, then grabs the phone out of Nik's hand before she can depart. Tears clouding her vision as she returns to the photo gallery and sends each of those disturbing, nauseating photos to her own cell phone. 

“Do you want to go for a walk?” Nik asks, as she returns with a glass of water from the bathroom. “Maybe some fresh air will do you some good. I know it's hard being cooped up like this and you've been under a lot of stress. It will be good for you to get out. Get some exercise. Some sunshine,” she attempts a reassuring smile, and rubs her friend's arm comfortingly. “I know how hard this is. To hear this. To see those pictures.”

“I can't believe he would do this,” Esme's hands shake as she lifts the water to her lips, and Nik puts a supportive hand under the bottom of the glass. “This is not Tyler. He doesn't do things like this, Nik.”

“Not normally, no. But he has been under a lot of stress. A lot of tension. Worry. And now you're having a baby and he has that on his plate too....”

“Don't bring the baby into this. If anything, that's something he should be happy about.”

“He's been off his meds?”

She nods. “I don't know how long for. I've been so caught up with worrying about the kids and worrying about him not getting killed that I haven't been paying attention.”

“It's not your fault,” Nik rubs her back now. “You're his wife, not his babysitter.”

“I always know if he's going through a crisis. Always. And I'm always there for him. To help him through it. And maybe if I noticed sooner...”

“Esme, don't do this to yourself. None of this is your fault. You can help him, but you can't fix him. He has to want to fix himself.”

“I told him not to take this job. I begged him not to take it. He'd just gotten back from Guatemala and he promised me...he promised the kids...that he would stay home. That he wouldn't take anything else for at least two weeks. And then McMann showed up in Telluride and everything went to shit.”

“That was McMann's plan. When he couldn't kill Tyler in Guatemala, he changed his entire plan. He concocted this elaborate story about his wife and his kids because he knew that Tyler would cave in at the mention of kids. He wanted to bring him here to start shit with the IRA. So the IRA would kill him and McMann's hands would be clean. No connection to Tyler's death. But when he brought you in and you started digging around....”

“So it's my fault?” the tears fall in earnest now. “He's doing this because of me? Because I got involved in this?”

“No. Esme, that's not what I'm saying. I'm saying that McMann had to make things even more complicated and twisted to get his hands on Tyler. Including targeting you and the kids. And that's why Tyler is doing this. Or at least that's his rationale. He feels he needs revenge.”

“For what? I'm fine. The kids are fine. What...?”

“The threat was even worse in his mind because he's not in a good place. You know what he gets like that, when he's off his meds.”

She nods. “He obsesses over things. He thinks things are a hundred times worse than what they are.”

“It's Tyler doing these things, but it's not Tyler at the same time. He's not the Tyler you know. He may think he is, but he isn't.”

“What am I supposed to do? If he's that unhinged, I won't be able to get through to him. No one will be able to get through to him.”

“Tough love?” she suggests. “What is he most afraid of? Not just now. But always.”

“I can't do that him, Nik. I can't hurt him like that. If things are that bad now, what will he get like if I do that to him? I just can't. What he's doing is wrong, I'm not denying that. But I can't break his heart.”

“Esme, this is what he needs. To snap him out of it. If he has something he's afraid to lose, that will be what forces him to save himself. You know I'm right. Remember when you kicked him out? Six months it took. But he smartened up, didn't he? Because he was afraid you'd never take him back and he'd never see his kids.”

“I can't,” she insists. “I can't hurt him like that. Of all the things that would break him...”

“It will force him to get his shit together. It will make him realize that he's out of control and he's need to get his head on straight. I know you don't want to do it. You don't want to use yourself and your kids...his kids...as weapons, but you need to. If you want to save Tyler, you have to do it. Or he'll become someone you don't even recognize. And you won't have a choice to walk away for good. I know you don't want that.”

“No, I don't...” she uses the back of her hand to brush tears off her cheeks. “...I don't want to walk away. I love him. And I know he loves me. I know he loves his kids. And I'm having a baby and I can't do it alone. I can't do it without him.”

“You'll have to if this goes on. Because you're going to loose him. To whatever the hell is going on inside his head. If you want to help save him, you have to do this. He needs you to do this.”

“Fine,” she reluctantly agrees. “But it isn't going to well. It's going to go to shit. And then what? When he loses his mind? I'm not afraid of him. I know he won't hurt me. That's one thing I do know for sure. But he's going to flip out, Nik. And this place will be a battle zone.”

“If that happens, you call me and I'll come and get you. You can come stay with me in my room until he calms down., okay?”

Esme nods.

“It's going to be alright,” Nik assures her, as she wraps an around her friend's shoulder, pulling her tight into her side, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Everything is going to be alright.”

****

She's sitting at the end of the bed when he returns, nervously bouncing her legs up and down and chewing on her bottom lip; cell phone clutched tightly in her hand. 

“What's going on?” Tyler asks, as she slips his feet out of flip flops, leaving them by the door. “I thought you were going out with Tanis?”

“I changed my mind,” her voice is strained, the emotion evident. And she doesn't look at him, even when he walks further into the room and lays his hand on her back and drops a kiss on the top of her head. “Where were you?” she asks.

“I told you. I went to help out with McMann.”

“What kind of help?”

“What does it matter?”

“I'm just curious, I guess. I mean, if three Marines can't handle him, what are you supposed to do about it?”

“Just an extra pair of hands there, I suppose. What's going on? You okay? You seem a little...”

“Upset?” she finishes for him. 

He nods.

“I need you to be honest with me, Tyler. I don't want you lying to me. Where were you?”

“I just told you...”

“I know where you were and who you were with. But where were you? As in location? Why is it big secret? Why am I not allowed to know these things? How come every time I ask you, you either totally ignore me or you just change the subject?”

“You don't need to know. Your part in all of this is done now. There's nothing left for you to do. Why would I get you involved in anything else? You need to be taking it easy. For the baby.”

“Don't do that,” she shakes her head, and finally turns her face towards him, her eyes darker than he's ever seen them. “Don't you use this baby as an excuse to keep things from me.”

“What are you talking about? What...?” he attempts to lay a hand on her shoulder, and she aggressively pushes it away and stands up, facing him.

“I am going to ask you one more time,” she says, voice trembling. “Where were you?”

“I fucking told you. I was helping with McMann. Where the hell does it matter where the actual place is?”

She inhales deeply, pulls her lip between her teeth, and then exhales sharply. “What the hell is this?” she brings up the photos on her phone, tapping on the one of McMann restrained to the chair, hood still over his face. “Can you explain this? Tell me what this is, Tyler.”

He sighs heavily, fists tightening by his sides. “Where did you get that?”

“Nik. She sent me a whole bunch. See...” she scrolls through the pictures, and when he attempts to reach for the phone, she yanks it away, holding it behind her back. “...tell me you didn't do this. Tell me you didn't drug someone and kidnap them and tie them up in a storage locker. Tell me you didn't do those things.”

He stares at her; long and hard, blue eyes never leaving dark brown.

“Tell me,” she orders. “Tell me it wasn't you. Tell me that she's wrong. That it was someone else and they're just wanting you to take the blame. Tell me.”

Tyler shakes his head. “I can't.”

“So this was all you? All those pictures? All those things done to him? All those bruises and all the blood and the missing teeth? That was all you? You did all of that?”

He nods. 

“Why? Why would you do this? What the hell,Tyler? This is not you! You don't do shit like this! You don't hurt people. You help them!”

“I've hurt plenty of people. I've killed even more. You know that.”

“You kill because you have to! Because you don't have a choice. Because it's you or them . But this! What you're doing now? You have a choice! You're choosing to do this! You're choosing to hurt someone!”

“He fucking deserves it,” his voice is low and steady, giving no evidence to the rage that's building inside of him. 

“Why? Who the hell are you to say someone deserves this? Jesus Christ, Tyler! You ripped someone's teeth out of their mouth with goddamn pliers! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Nothing. Nothing is wrong with me. He deserves this. I'm doing this for you.”

“For me?” she laughs incredulously. “For me? Why do you think I would want this? I don't want this! Put a bullet in his head and call it a fucking day! Don't do this! This is sick! This is fucked up and you know it!”

“You know what he was going to do to you? To the kids? Our kids?”

“Don't you dare use them in this. Don't you dare use them to justify this. You think this is what they would want? Their daddy doing these kinds of things to people? You worry about what Millie will say when she grows up. How she'll react when she finds out about your past as mercenary. You worry about that then you go and do this? This is somehow better?”

“She'd understand. That I did it for her.”

“You aren't going to rationalize this. No matter what you say to me. This ends now, Tyler. You hand him over to whoever is going to take him and that's it. This ends. You stop this right now.”

He shakes his head. “Why are you doing this?”

“Why am I doing this? What am I doing? Holding you accountable for your bullshit? Like I've been doing for five and a half fucking years! When I have I never not called you out on something? Did you really think I wouldn't call you out on this?”

“You weren't supposed to find out.”

“Oh and lying about it makes it so much better. You know, when Nik showed up here and said we needed to talk, I was almost hoping she was going to tell me you were fucking her. Because that would have been so much easier to deal with than this. And how sad is that? That I'd rather you fuck another woman than do something like this?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to tell me that this stops right now. That you don't go near him ever again. That you let Mark and his guys handle this from now on. This ends here. Tell me this ends here.”

He shakes his head.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now? Look at these pictures!” she throws the phone at him. “Look at them, Tyler! Look at them and tell me that this is okay! Fucking look at them!”

“Don't...” he takes a step towards her, a fist clutched at his side. “....don't fucking talk to me like that.”

“What are you going to? Are you going to the same thing to me? Are you going to lose your shit on me too?”

“I'd never do that. I would never, ever hurt you.”

“Really? Are you sure? Because I thought you'd never turn into this. I never thought you'd turn into someone who would do this kind of thing. After all the years you've spent getting people away from sick fucks that do these things, you turn around and you become one of them.”

“I'm nothing like them,” he hisses through gritted teeth.

“Why are you doing this? Why? Give me one good reason. Look me in the eye and give me one good reason.”

“I told you!” he finally snaps. “He was going to hurt you. He was going to hurt our kids. What the fuck am I supposed to do? Let it happen? Be okay with it?!”

“He can't hurt us because you've got him locked up in that fucking storage place! He can't hurt anyone! So just leave him there to rot if you have to. But don't do this. You don't need to do this!”

“I do. For you. And the kids.”

“No!” she snarls, and jabs him in the chest with her forefinger. “You don't use us like that! Don't you dare use us to justify this! We don't want you doing this! I want you to stop, Tyler. I want you to just walk away from McMann. From the job. I want you to tell Nik to find someone else to get those kids. Because you are in no way healthy enough to do this job.”

He smirks. “Who the fuck do you think you are? Talking to me like this? Who...?”

“I'm your wife, you fucking asshole! I'm your wife and I'm worried about you! Because you're becoming someone I don't even recognize! You're slowly becoming a completely different person and I can't watch it happen. I can't just stand back and let you do this to yourself.”

“The person you remember is gone, Esme. You're remembering someone that existed for five days. In Dhaka. That's who you remember.”

“No,” she shakes her head, remaining defiant. “I remember the person after that. The person who chose to keep going when he could have given up. That's who I remember.”

“The guy you fell in love with? He died that day on the bridge. You know he did. That's who you remember. That guy you were fucking for five days. That's who you remember.”

“No, Tyler. That's not who I remember. I remember the guy who saved a fourteen year old boy even though the job went to shit and there wasn't going to be a payout. I remember the guy who busted his ass to get Ovi and I across the bridge. That's who I remember!”

“Do you remember the guy that got shot in the throat? That fucking bled out all over you? Do you remember him? Look at it!” he points to the scar on his neck. “Fucking look at it, Esme. You can't, can you. You can't even look at it because it because too real to you. Do you remember that guy?”

“Of course I do.”

“Because that guy died that day. And he took those other guys with him. What you got in the end? That's not the same guy.”

“You're better than that guy. You became a better man. Do you remember saying that to me? That I made you want to become a better man? Do you remember that?”

He nods.

“You are a better man. And that's the man I want. I don't want the man that does shit like this to people. And you don't want to be that man. I know you don't want to.”

“I'm sorry,” he snarls. “That I can't be that person for you.”

“You are that person, you dick! And I want you to stay that person, Tyler. I need you stay that person. Your kids need you to stay that person.”

“You should have let me die. On that bridge. You should have just let me die.”

She fights back the tears despite the devastation his words inflict upon her heart. Her entire body. “How can you even say that? Is that really what you wanted? You wanted me to let you die?”

“It would have been better if you'd just let me go.”

“Better for who? You? You were the one that wanted to keep seeing me after Dhaka. You brought it up first. We made plans. Together. To travel and enjoy getting to know each other and see where things took us. A guy who wants to die does not do that. And you can't convince me otherwise.”

“It would have been so much easier,” he speaks with a quiet resolve, despite the rage that causes his entire body to tremble.

“For you? That's bullshit, Tyler and you know it.”

“You wouldn't have wasted the last five and a half years of you life.”

“I didn't waste anything. I married the love of my life. I had his children. There was nothing wasted. I've spent these last five and a half years loving you with everything I am and everything I have. And I spent them being loved by you. I wasted nothing.”

“None of this would be happening. This bullshit with McMann. People going after my kids. Threatening them. If I hadn't survived...”

“But you did,” she hisses. “You did survive. You didn't die because you're a stubborn fucking asshole who refuses to give up. The same stubborn asshole who coded three times in the OR and still came back. You have me. You have your children. Aren't we enough? Aren't we enough to make you want to live?”

“Of course you are. But....”

“There's no 'buts', Tyler. I know how stressed you are right now. I know you're going through a fucking nightmare mentally. And I know that it frustrates you and it confuses you and I know it scares you. But you're not in this alone. I am right here with you. And I'll fight your fight with you.”

“You shouldn't have to!” he argues. “Don't you fucking get that? You shouldn't have to keep doing this!”

“I don't have to do anything. I want to. Why won't you let me help you? Why won't you swallow your goddamn pride and let me in? Just let me help you. Please.”

“What do you want me to do? Tell me. Tell me what you want me to do.”

“I want you to stop this. This McMann bullshit. Because that's not you. Regardless of what you say, regardless of your stupid ass reasonings. That's not the man I fell in love with. That I married. That I gave children to. It's your brain, Tyler. It's messing with you. So you need to stop right now. And you need to tell Nik that you're done. Someone else can find those kids. You tell her and we leave. We get the first flight out of here and we go and get our kids and Ovi and we go home.”

He shakes his head, voice choked by emotion. “I can't. I'm sorry. I can't.”

“You still want to finish the job,” it's a statement, not a question. “You still think you need to stay and get it done.”

He nods.

“Well I guess you've made your choice then. It was always going to be this way, wasn't it, Tyler. You were always going to chose the job over me, weren't you.”

“That is not what I'm doing. I promised you, at the end of it, I was done.”

“I am sick to death of your promises. Of you breaking them all the time. I'm tired. I'm tired and I've got another human being inside of me that I'm trying to keep alive. I'm tired and I'm done. You made your choice,” she steps past him, aggressively shoving her shoulder into him. 

“What are you doing?” he watches as she grabs one of her suitcases out of the unlocked second closet in the hall. “Esme...what the fuck? Stop your fucking games, okay? Just stop this shit and just sit down and we will talk about this and...”

“We are way past sitting down and talking about anything,” she tosses the suitcase onto the bed, angrily yanking on the zipper to open it, then stomps to the dresses and begins tearing open drawers; gathering up various items of clothing and messily tossing them into the case. 

“Just stop!” he orders. “What are you doing?!”

“I'm leaving. I'm going back to Colorado. I'll stay with my mom until Ovi brings the kids back.”

“You don't need to do that. Stop...” he stands behind and reaches around her slight frame to grab both of her wrists in one of his hands. “You don't need to leave. I don't want you to leave.”

“If I stay, I'm only going to be in your way. Just like I was in Dhaka.”

“That's not true. You were never in my way in Dhaka.”

“It wouldn't have been so hard if I'd died in that forest too. If Saju had have just done me in when he had the chance. Things would have been a lot easier on you and a lot easier on Ovi.”  
“That's bullshit and you know it.”

“Why am I even here still? My usefulness ran it's coarse, right? You don't need me anymore.”

“Of course I need you. You're my wife.”

“You chose, Tyler,” she manages to yank her hands out of his grip. “You made your choice. Now you can live with it.”

“Don't do this. Please. I never chose the job over you.”

“You just did!” she bellows, and pushes him away with her elbow, tears flowing freely down her face. “You just did!”

“I promised you I'd be done after I was finished her. That was what our deal.”

“Well fuck the deal!” she shoves him away once more when he attempts to get closer. “And fuck you too, Tyler!”

“Esme...stop...don't do this. Don't leave. I don't want you to leave.”

“You need to get your shit together,” she orders. “You need to figure out what the hell you want.”

“You,” there's no hesitation. “I want you. I want my kids.”

“Then come with me. Tell Nik that you're done. Tell her you're finished and come home with me.”

“You know I can't. You know I can't leave those kids.”

“But you can you leave yours right? That's a never a problem to you. It's never a problem when you walk out the door while they're sleeping and leave me to clean up your mess. You can leave your own kids...that you helped make...but not complete strangers. Makes total sense.”

“Just give me to the end of the week. Like we agreed on. That's all I'm asking for here. Just five more days.”

“And then five days become ten and ten become twenty and on and on and on.”

“Not this time,” Tyler insists. “This time I'm done. I meant what I said.”

“I'm not staying here. I refuse to stay here. I'm not hanging around to get that phone call or that knock on the door letting me know you're dead. I'm going home. To Colorado. To my mom's. And you get a hold of Ovi and you get him and my kids back. Do you understand me?”

“Esme...” he lays his hands on her shoulders. “...just stop.”

“You track down Ovi and my kids and you get their asses back to Colorado. Or I will never, ever forgive you. I will spend the rest of my life hating you if you don't get my kids back where they belong. And stop!” she uses her elbows to knock her hands off her shoulders. “Stop touching me! I don't want you touching me right now. Just get my kids back, Tyler.”

“They're my kids too,” he angrily reminds her.

“Yeah, well try being a father once in a while. Not just when it's convenient for you and fits your schedule.”

“That's fucking low and you know it, Esme. That's really fucking low. I do what I do for those kids. For you!”

“You do what you do because you like it. You just won't admit. Because it makes you sick to admit it so you use me and the kids as an excuse. Because it makes you feel better. Quit your shit, Tyler. Just admit it. For once, just admit you do this job because you enjoy it.”

“I don't enjoy it. I do it because I'm good at it. No. I'm fucking great at it. And the money...”

“Fuck the money. There is not enough money in this world to replace you! I don't care about the money. I would leave with you right now and go back to Australia and live in that goddamn shack with you and four kids and that stupid goddamn chicken in the bathroom if that's what you wanted. If that is what would make you happy. If that's what would you keep you home and safe!”

“Esme....please...just stay here with me...we can sit down and talk about this. Like rational adults.”

“Tyler, I am way past feeling rational. I'm not staying here with you. I love you. I love you so much it hurts sometimes. But I can't be around you right now. I just can't. You need time to think. Without me around.”

“No,” he remains steadfast. “I don't.

She finishes throwing the clothes into the suitcase and zips it closed. “I'll be there. When this is done. I'll be waiting for you to come home. But if in your heart you do want the job over us, don't even bother coming back. Move. Get out of my way.”

“Stop. Right now. Stop whatever fucking game this is and...”

“This isn't a game!” she screams. “I said move!”

He holds his hands up in surrender and steps backwards. “You're leaving now?” he asks incredulously, as she grabs the suitcase and heads for the door. “Right now? Where the hell are you going?”

“I'll stay with Nik. Then I'll get a flight back first thing tomorrow.”

He crosses the room in three long strides, slamming a palm against the door to prevent her from opening it. “Stay here. With me. Then tomorrow you book a flight and I will take you to the airport. Just stay here. With me.”

“Why? Because you think fucking me a few times will make everything better? It doesn't solve everything, Tyler. Regardless of what you think.”

“I never said that. I never even thought it. I just want you to stay. I just want to sleep here. With me. In the same bed. So I can wake up beside you. That's all I want.”

“I can't. You need to respect that. That I need to be away from you right now. This all too much. Finding out what you've been doing. I need time to come to terms with that and I need to take care of myself and this baby and I can't do either of those things if I'm with you. You have to let me go, Tyler.”

“No. I don't, And I won't.”

“If I stay, this won't end well. Because all the worry and the stress is going to get to me and I'm going to lose this baby and you won't ever forgive yourself for that. So please. Just let me go. If you love me, if you love this baby, just let me go.”

“Fine...” he relents, removing his hand from the door and stepping back far enough to allow her to open it. 

“I'm sorry,” she says, and he reaches out to clear the tears off her cheeks with his thumbs. “This is not about not loving you. Because I do. I love you so fucking much. And it's because I love you that I'm doing this.”

He nods. “I know.”

“Do you? Because I need you to understand that. I need you to know that I love you and I'm not leaving you. I don't want this...us...to be over. I just need to take care of myself and this baby. I can't do that if I'm here. And you know I can't. You know right, that?”

“Yup.”

“I want you to find those kids. I do. And then I want you to come home. To me. To our kids. Your kids. Promise me, Tyler. If there's ever going to be one promise you make and keep, make it that one.”

“I promise. I'll come home. To you. To the kids.”

“Be careful, okay? And stay safe. Come home in one piece. And breathing.”

“I will,” he assures her.

She manages a small smiles, then reaches up to push his hair off of his forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he leans down to kiss her. Long and languid. Tender.

“I'll see you when I see you,” she says.

He grins. “That's my line.”

“Well, I beat you to it this time.”

He lays a hand on the back of her neck and pulls her into him, pressing his lips to her brow. “Stay,” he says. “Just tonight. Tomorrow I'll let you leave. I'll take you to the airport.”

“If I don't leave now, I never will. And that's not good for either of us. But I'll be waiting for you. I promise,” she places her hand on the side of his face, running her thumb over his lips and then the bristles of his beard. “I'll miss you.”

“I'll miss you too. At least call me. Before you leave tomorrow.”

“I will,” she promises, and briefly leans her forehead against his chest before stepping out into the hall and shutting the door behind her.


	49. Chapter 49

Nik has arranged a private flight; her list of wealthy and well established connections is long and prosperous, with more names being added as the days go by. Most are former satisfied clients offering services in exchange of hefty payments, others are associates of big name and influential marks. Word travels fast in the dark underbelly of the soldier for hire world, and once you've established a reputation, it follows you; your client listing growing larger, the money offered much more substantial, the jobs more dangerous and life threatening. 

She'd reluctantly given him the departure time; slightly remorseful for causing an even bigger issue than she'd intended, and eager to keep the peace between Tyler and her herself. It would never be the same. They both know that. The last thread that had been keeping their friendship intact has finally been severed, relegating them to nothing more than colleagues. There's been too much damage done; the years of pursuing him and attempting to convince him to commit adultery, the trust issues that have been plaguing them since he refused to dump Ovi in the street in Dhaka (going against her direct orders), and now going behind his back and almost single handily ruining his marriage. The latter is partly his fault as well; he shoulders his blame and has had a little more than twelve hours to torture himself over the decisions he'd made. With more meds in his system; he's finally starting to think straight again; the confusion beginning to lift, the doom and gloom dissipating, the harsh reality of what he'd done sinking in. He's disgusted with himself; for resorting to the means he'd had, for allowing himself to spiral so far out of control that he hadn't even realized he was making a mess out of himself and his life, for keeping such a horrendous and vile secret from his wife and for not letting her help him sooner. And for reacting the way he'd had during their fight; for that brief moment when he'd come so close to not being able to control his temper and had thought about grabbing her or hitting her.

It makes him feel sick even now. When he thinks about getting to that point. That he'd allowed his brain to get so fucked up that hurting her had even become an option. Under normal circumstances, the thought would never have even crossed his mind, not even in the midst of their nastiest and most intense of fights. And the fact that it had had been enough to make him realize just how much things needed to change. How much he needed to change. So instead of going on a bender and drinking away his misery, he'd proceeded to raid the mini bar in favour of dumping every bottle of booze down the drain to avoid temptation, and instead of going into an uncontrollable rage and trashing and destroying the hotel room, he'd sat down and had an emotional breakdown instead. Allowing the tears to fall and the sobs to wrack his body; feeling emotionally and physically spent afterwards, but determined to make his life better. He wasn't going to lose his wife and his kids. And he was going to make whatever changes he needed to make to ensure that didn't happen.

His hands are shoved in the pockets of his flack jacket as he crossed the tarmac; Nik and Esme are at the bottom of the stairs that lead up to the floor of the jet, quietly conversing as one of the stewards finishes loading the bags. Nik sees him first, attempting a small smile that he doesn't return, and her lips set themselves into a grin -almost remorseful- line before she whispers something to Esme, gives her upper arm a tight squeeze and then climbs the stairs to the jet without a glance back.

“Hey,” he simply greets, and attempts a smile. He's been miserable since she walked out the night before; heartbroken and desolate instead of angry and destructive. But he'd kept his promise; staying away from her, not even calling or texting, no matter how desperate he was to talk to her. It's the first time in almost the entire five and a half years they've been together that they've gone that long without talking; always finding ways to communicate even when he was halfway around the world. And he didn't realize that he'd miss her that damn much in such a short period of time.

Hey,” she sounds tired, sad. And he hates that he's done that to her. But her smile is genuine; it makes her smile sparkle and the bridge of her nose to crinkle. She's still the most beautiful thing he's ever seen; no make up gracing her still youthful features, clad in a pair of jeans and one of his hoodies.

“I was looking for that,” he teases, and nods at the sweater.

“You know it's my favourite one. I wasn't going home without it. And it still smells like you, so...” her voice trails off. “...what are....?”

“I know...” he begins at the same time, then gives a small laugh. “Go ahead. Ladies first.”

“Age before beauty,” she playfully retorts, and even this small return to their often playful banter gives him hope.

“I know I said I'd stay away from you, when you called me to let me know you were leaving, but Nik told me what time the flight was at. And before you get mad at her, I kind of put a huge guilt trip on her and forced her to tell me.”

“What are you doing here? I thought we both agreed we wouldn't see each other until you came home.”

“I'm not here to try and convince you to stay. I want to. But I won't.” He wonders if she wants him to; if she wants him to grovel and beg. Because if that's what it will take to change her mind, he's more than willing to do it. He's far beyond worrying about his pride.

“You need to concentrate on the job,” she says. “And you can't do that if I'm here. You'll spend too much time worrying about me and the baby. And that's dangerous. If your head isn't one hundred percent in things.”

He nods in agreement. “I got a hold of Ovi. He's going to give it a couple of days and then they're going to make their way back to Colorado. I told him not to go to the house and to go to your mom's instead. It's going to be crowded as all hell there. Especially with Nik staying with you.”

“I told her she didn't need to, but she says it's for the best. She feels better if she can keep an eye on all of us. She said it would probably be okay if we went back to the house, but I don't want to be there without you. I'd feel better if you were there with us.”

“And I'd feel better if you stayed away from the house,” he says. “Until I got back. Just in case.”

“Are you okay?” she asks, and takes a step towards him.. “And don't say you're fine. Because I know you're not.”

“I'm not okay, but I will be.”

“You're taking your meds?”

He nods. 

“Are you sober?”

“Yeah. I am. And I'm going to stay that way.”

Her smile is a little bigger this time, and she moves even closer to him.

“Have you been back there?” she inquires. “The storage place?”

“No. Not since yesterday. Not since we...well...you know...”

“And are you going to? Go back?”

He shakes his head. “I told Mark to handle everything. That I wanted nothing more to do with it. That I never should have done it in the first goddamn place. And I'm sorry. That I ever did do it. And that I never told you how fucked up my head actually is. As soon as I did it, I should have told you.”

“You thought you had a valid reason,” she says. “That's what your brain was telling you. And I get that. That it was you but it wasn't you all at the same time. Promise me this won't ever happen again. That that's a direction you won't go in again. Because that isn't who you are. No matter what your brain tells you.”

“I promise. It won't ever happen again. That's not who I am; you're right. And it fucking makes me sick that I even thought about it.”

“Don't do that to yourself, Tyler. The guilt. Don't dwell on that. It happened. You can't go back and change it. For what's it worth, it wasn't all your fault. You had people enabling you. Making you think you were doing the right thing. And that's not who you are either. You don't normally give a shit what anyone says.”

“Guess I'm even more fucked up than I realize.”

“You're sick, not fucked up. And when you get home we'll deal with it. Together. Not on your own. You're not in this alone. And the sooner you realize that, things will get better. You have to let me help you, Tyler. I know that's hard for you. You think I've already done so much. After Dhaka. But I'd do it all again. I'd make the same decisions. In a heartbeat.”

“I didn't mean what I said. About wishing you'd let me die. I was just pissed off and on the defensive and...”

“I know...” she lays her hands on his hips. “...I know you didn't mean it. And maybe things would have been easier. If I had have. But I wasn't letting you go. Not that easily anyway.”

He smiles at that. 

“I'm going to call the doctor when I get to my mom's. I should probably get into see her as soon as possible. I think I'm further along than I either of us think. Probably close to three months. If not a bit past it.”

“When I came back from El Salvador,” he easily recalls, and she nods. “Yeah, that was a wild eighteen hours. When I first got back. You were kinda...noisy...that night”

She blushes. “Yeah, well you have that effect on me. I just can't let it out when there's kids in the house. And if that's the case, that that's when it happened, I need to get in to the doctor sooner rather than later. Just to make sure things are okay. But I'll call you and let you know what she says. She'll probably want to do an ultrasound. To check on everything. I can send you copies of the pictures if you want.”

“Yeah, I'd like that. Then I go around showing them to complete strangers, bragging about my super sperm.”

She laughs, and shakes her head. “You're never going to let that go, are you.”

“Probably not. Billy Flynn called. The IRA agreed. They'll take him off our hands. For everything we asked for. I'll let him know where you and the kids are. So he can have his people go there. So once I hand McMann over, that part of the job will be done. And no, I won't be doing it alone. I'll have someone there with me. So I don't flip my shit and fuck him up even more than I already have.”

“He'll get what's coming him to Tyler. Even if it's not you that does it. And I don't want you to be the one that does it.”

“I won't be,” he assures her, and reaches out to take her face in his hands, thumbs gliding across the tops of her cheeks. “I leave for New Zealand, In two days.”

“You found them? The kids? He told you where they are?”

“He just said they're in New Zealand. It's up to me to find out exactly where. But I'm thinking you were probably right about the grandmother's old store. That it's somewhere I should check out.”

“Don't go alone, okay? Because McMann may be out of the picture, but the Buckmans are still in it. And those are people you do not want to cross by yourself.”

“Mark and one of his guys are going to come along. Just in case. As much as I can't fucking stand Mark...”

“He'll have your back. Mostly because he knows I'll kill him if he lets something happen to you. Please be careful, Tyler.”

“I will.”

“Because I kind of want you to come home,” she says, and fights back tears. “I really, really want you to come home.”

“I'm coming home, baby. I promise.”

She nods, and then drops her forehead onto his chest, arms wrapping around his waist. And he can feel her body trembling against him as she cries.

“It's going to be okay,” he drops a kiss on the top of her head, then places one hand on the nape of her neck, the other on the small of her back. “Everything is going to be okay.”

“I'm sorry. For some of the things I said. I know how bad they must have hurt you and...”

“Don't be sorry. They were true. I needed to hear them.”

“I would never, ever, take your kids from you. And I never should have said that. That was a horrible thing to say you but I was just so shocked over the whole thing and I was so angry with you and I was so hurt when you said you wished I'd let you die that I just snapped and....”

“Esme, it's okay,” he presses a kiss to her temple. “What I did was fucked up. And I'm sorry I did it. That I lied to you. That I disappointed you.”

“You're a great dad, Tyler. And when I said that you should try being a dad for once...”

'Baby, stop. Just stop. It's okay. And it's true, I've been away more than I've been home. I've missed a lot. But I always tried to make up for it. With them. But I never tried hard enough to make up for it with you. And I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry.”

“There's things we both need to work on,” she says, and he nods.

“Me more than you though. I've got a lot more shit to work out.”

“We'll do that together, right?” she sounds worried, and she looks up at him, her top teeth digging into her bottom lip. “This isn't something you want to do alone or...”

“I'm coming home, baby. I already said that. Neither of us are going to do this alone.”

She smiles at that. “How long do you think? That you'll be in New Zealand?”

“Few days. A week at the most. It'll take us a couple days once we get there to track down a location. Unless the IRA can get more info out of McMann before they kill him. And I asked for proof. That he's dead. So we know for sure. So we don't have to worry about showing up on our doorstep a year from now.”

“I'll definitely be able to sleep better at night if I know for sure he's gone. And when you're home and I don't have to sleep in that big old bed by myself.”

“Yeah, that'll be nice. I know I know I'll sleep like shit until I get home.”

“You sleep like shit anyway,” she sniffles.

“Well I'll sleep like bigger shit until I get home,” he chuckles. “You should go...” he rubs his palms up and down her back. “...Nik's probably starting to get antsy. Your mom picking you up at the airport?”

“Kyle said he would do it.” The youngest Drummond boy. The only 'non cop'. A firefighter in Denver. For the most part he's neutral when it comes to his opinions on his sister's choice in men and her hasty marriage and pregnancy. But when his mother gets out of hand and he can't handle anymore, he becomes what they call 'Pro Tyler'. It's mostly to piss her off, but they appreciate the support. And he's a good uncle; taking the time out of his schedule to spend time with his nieces and nephews, unlike the others who have a hard time even remembering birthdays. 

“You'll call me?” he asks. “When you get there? So I now you're safe and sound?”

She nods. “Don't go to New Zealand without letting me know about it, okay? I'm thousands of miles away, but I still like to know where you are and if you're alright.”

“I'll call you,” he promises. “Give the kids hugs and kisses from daddy. Tell them I miss them. That I'll see them soon.”

“I will,” the tears are threatening again. “Be home soon, okay? I'll miss you.”

“I'll miss you too,” he takes her face in his hands and kisses; tender, sweet, long. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Tyler. Please stay safe.”

“Always,” he says, and places a kiss to her forehead before taking a step backwards and watching her as she climbs the stairs to the jet. Smiling when she pauses in the doorway to give him a small wave before disappearing inside.

****

Kyle is already waiting at the edge of the tarmac when they arrive; leaning against the passenger's side door of his pick up truck, hands stuffed in the pockets of his navy blue Denver Fire Department jacket. The third youngest, he's the tallest and biggest of the three boys; just hitting six feet, with broad shoulders and chest and strong, powerful arms. He's the spitting image of their late father; brilliant blue eyes, the same easy smile and witty and sarcastic nature, the graying hair clipped short to his head in a brush cut. He gives his sister a bright, cheerful smile as she raises her hand in greeting as she descends the jet steps, then hangs back as she and Nik exchange a brief conversation and a quick hug before Nik departs to meet with the waiting 'security experts' she'd assigned to the family.

“Who's that?” he asks, as he quickly strides towards his sister, relieving her of her carry on bag and suitcase. Watching as Nik...in her well tailored charcoal grey pant suit and pink blouse...climbs into the back of a Lincoln Navigator. 

“That's Nik. She's going to be staying at mom's too.”

“Friend of yours?”

Esme nods. “She's also Tyler's boss. Sort of. She's the one that calls him when she has work she needs done.”

“What kind of work?”

“We've talked about this. A million times. Private security.”

“Private security, huh?” he slings the strap of the carry on over his shoulder. “Why do I get the feeling that's code language for something else entirely?”

“It's been five and a half years, K. Let it go.”

“Yeah? Well It's been five and a half years of thinking you're full of shit. Hold up...” he places a protective arm across her stomach when the Navigator comes within feet of them on it's way off the tarmac. And he notices how Nik is watching them; oversized sunglasses covering her eyes, a slow smile spreading across her face. “She's cute,” he says. “Your friend.”

“She's with Mark.”

He frowns. “Mark as in...”

“As in my ex Mark. The Mark who you dragged out of a bed at a hotel in Aspen and beat the shit out of in front of a prostitute. That Mark.”

“He's lucky all I did was beat the shit out of him. I should have killed him. I could have, you know. With my bare hands. I could have honestly killed him. Why would someone like her want to be a dick like him?”

“Maybe she didn't realize that you're single and 'looking to mingle',” Esme playfully digs her elbow into his side. “I mean, what's not to like about you? You're buff, crazy handsome, a firefighter. Chicks dig men in uniform. Even someone like Nik, I bet.”

Kyle chuckles. “Easy now. All I said was that she was cute. I'm not looking for you to hook me up. Besides, I don't know if I could get with someone that's been with that prick. Not after all the stuff he's done to my little sister.”

“Typical, K. Always the protective older brother.”

“Always,” he declares. “How you doing, kid?” He wraps an arm around her shoulders and pulls her tight into his side, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Not sure about the red. Never thought I'd see you with that colour. What's that all about?”

“It is a long story that I do not have the energy to tell. But I'm dying it back as soon as I can get to a store and get a box of hair dye. I want this part of my life to be over. It's been a nightmare and I need every memory of it gone.”

“It's hair.”

“And I want it gone. It needs to be gone.”

“We can stop at a store before we get to mom's, if you're that hell bent on changing things. What did Tyler say about? Did he like it?”

“He was okay with it, I guess. He never complained about it. But I just want it gone. I don't like what it represents. I don't want to hang onto those memories. I need this part to be over.”

“This part as in Tyler or...”

“What?” she gives a short laugh. “No. Not as in Tyler. Tyler and I are fine. Sort of.”

Kyle arches an eyebrow.

“We aren't splitting up, so don't get hopeful.”

“Why would I be hopeful? I actually like the guy. I'm the only one who does. Everyone else has their heads so far up mom's ass they just go along with whatever she says. But I think he's a good shit. It's kind of cool having an Australian as a brother in law. And he's good for you. Good to you. Worships the ground you walk on. And he's a great dad.”

She nods. “He is.”

“But? Why do I feel like there's a but coming on?”

“But, we're having some issues,” she admits. “Not bad enough for us to call things quits. But bad enough that I had to come home. He's got a lot on his plate. With work. The thing he is working on is stressful and it's taking a lot out of him and he's not doing well. Mentally. I was only in his way in Ireland. He couldn't concentrate on doing his job when he was too busy worrying about me all the time.”

“This all sounds a little ominous,” he loads her things into the back seat of the truck, then opens her door for her, a hand on her elbow as he helps her climb into the seat. “All the more reason I think this private security business goes way deeper than you're letting on. What would he be doing in Ireland that would require private security?”

“Nik has a lot of international clients,” Esme explains, as she buckles her seat belt. “Tyler goes where she needs him.”

“For private security.”

Esme nods.

Kyle shakes his head. “You're full of shit,sis,” he says, and slams her door closed.

****

Their on the highway for several minutes before either of them speak again. Kyle turning down the volume on the radio and then taking a sip of coffee from the take out cup sitting in the holder between the seats. 

“You want to talk about it?” he asks. “Whatever is going on? Whatever is happening between you and Tyler?”

She gives a small, almost apologetic smile. “Not really.”

“How bad is it?”

“I already told you. Not bad enough to split us up. There's no reason to hire a lawyer and get divorce papers drawn up.”

“What if I told you that mom's already been on google looking up good lawyers and taking their numbers down?”

Sighing, she shakes her head in disbelief.

“I know,” Kyle snorts. “What a bitch, right? Considering her marriage is a huge dumpster fire. She should be the last person judging anyone for their choices. You know she's convinced that he has women all over the globe? That he's hooking up with different people every place he goes?”

“She's a piece of work. I can't believe I'm willingly going there.”

“Does he? Have different women everywhere?”

She laughs. “No. He doesn't.”

“Is he cheating on you? Is that what the issue is? You found out about it and you're pissed and...”

“Tyler is not cheating on me. Tyler would never cheat on me. In the same way I'd never cheat on him. Why the hell is everyone so against us being together? It's been five and a half years. We have four children together. We are people still so bent out of shape about this?”

“Well you did run off to Australia, meet some random guy, hook up with him, and never come home. First time we're hearing about him is when he's in the hospital near death? In some messed up work related incident? What? What is a work related incident when you're in private security.”

“It's like being a cop. In a way. It's dangerous. Maybe even more dangerous than being a cop.”

“So he's packing heat, then.”

She nods. “And being shot at by other people packing heat. Among other things.”

“And he almost died?”

“Yes. On the job. He was shot...in the neck...and almost died.”

“Almost bled out. In your arms.”

She sighs. “Yes.”

“How the hell would that even happen? Why would you even be there? Where he's working? While he's working?”

“Because I was working too. With him. On the same thing.”

“Wait? What?” Kyle laughs. “I thought you were in Australia on a business trip.”

“I didn't meet him in Australia, Kyle. I mean, I did. In a way. I went to his place in Australia to meet him because we were going to be working together and Nik thought we should meet each other first.”

He frowns. “Nik? His boss? She's also your boss? What? How? I thought you were in business. Why would you and Tyler be working for the same person if he's in private security and you were in business?”

“This is a very long story. And it's weird and it's twisted and it's complicated and...”

“And we've got a two hour drive so start talking,” he interjects. “What the hell is going on, Esme? Because there is something that you're not telling me. There's a lot you're not telling me. So talk. Now.”

She sighs heavily, chewing nervously on her bottom lip. “I wasn't in business. I was in intel. I was hired by people like Nik to go places and get information. Valuable information. That no one else was able to get. On people that are suspected of doing some horrible things.”

“Like a spy?”

“Sort of, I guess. I don't know. I would just go where I was sent and weasel my way into peoples' lives and I'd get the information they'd need and then they'd go in and take care of things.”

“They? Who are they?”

“Mercenaries.”

Kyle's eyes narrow. “Excuse me, what? Did you just say mercenaries?” 

Esme nods. 

“As in soldiers for hire?”

Another nod. 

“You're kidding, right?” he gives a short laugh. “You've got to be kidding. So what does this have to do with Tyler?”

“Tyler isn't in private security, K. He's a mercenary.”

“What?” he chuckles. “You're really expecting me to believe that? This is all a joke right? Some big joke that the two of you have cooked up to play on mom. Get her riled up. Give her some more gray hair and maybe some heart issues. There's no way you're being serious. Tyler? A mercenary?”

“It's how we met. Nik recruited him for a job that she needed me to take. We were sent to Dhaka.”

“Isn't that the capital of Bangladesh?”

“A drug lord kidnapped another drug lord's son. But Nik couldn't figure out where they were keeping the kid other than somewhere in the market area. So she went me in to poke around and make nice with the locals and see what I could dig up. And she sent Tyler with me to protect me. And to eventually get the kid away from bad guys and home safe to his family.”

“I am having a really hard time wrapping my head around all of this,” Kyle admits, confusing on his face, brow deeply furrowed.

“Tyler and I were pretending to be newlyweds there for humanitarian work. That's how we ended up...well...you know...”

“Fucking,” her brother finishes for her.

“And it went really well until it didn't. Things fell apart on the way to the extraction point. Tyler wasn't able to get there safely because the kid's father sent someone to try and steal the kid off of Tyler and....”

“What the fuck? What are you talking about right now?”

“I'm explaining it to you!” she snaps. “They didn't want to pay Tyler his money so they tried to steal the kid back and all hell broke loose and we were the only two people from the team that didn't die and I had to hide out in the forest until the coast was clear and then walk back into town to meet you with Tyler and Ovi and...”

“Hold up...just hold up...Ovi? As in Ovi who lives with you?”

“There were cops everywhere,” she continues. “And the cops were in on it. And this drug lord Asif had these street hooligans chasing after us and it was still a big mess, so we had to hide in a sewer and Tyler's friend had to come and rescue us and he took us back to his house and then he back stabbed Tyler and Ovi had to kill him and...”

“Jesus Christ, are you honestly serious about all of this? What the hell, Esme? What in the ever loving hell?”

“...and we had to try and get across the Sultana Kamal Bridge but we needed help so Tyler got the guy that originally tried to steal Ovi back in the first place. And we had to split up and I went with them and Tyler stayed behind and...” her hands begin to tremble, tears brimming in her eyes. “...and Ovi and I got across okay but Tyler had a harder time and a sniper shot him and get back up and then this kid...this fucking kid shot him in the neck...” she wipes at the tears that manage to escape. “...and he was bleeding out and I was holding him and I was telling him not to give up...that he'd promised me we'd do all these things together and get to know one another better. And I had to put my hand over his neck and there was so much blood. There was so much of it and there was nothing I could but watch him die.”

“Okay...okay...calm down..” Kyle drops one hand from the wheel and rubs at the back of her neck. “Do you want me to pull over? I can pull over. Want me to?”

She shakes her head. “That's how it happened How it really happened. That's how Tyler nearly died. When he was stable, they transferred him to Australia and I went with him and I decided to stay with him. I didn't want to leave him there alone. I didn't want him to wake up and not have anyone there for him. So I stayed. And then I realized it was because I was in love with him and I wanted to be with him. And then I found out I was pregnant with Millie. So when he was well enough to be released, we moved in together and he asked me to marry him. That's how I ended up in Australia. With Tyler.”

Silence descends on the truck. Nothing but her soft sniffling and the windshield wipers back and forth as they clear away the light rain that's begun to fall. Out of the corner of her eye, Esme can see her older brother watching her; mouth slightly again, rendered speechless by her incessant rambling. And the hard truths it brought forth. His eyes rapidly -and repeatedly- flicking between her and the road. Eventually, he pops open the compartment between their seats, pulling out a bottle of water and a handful of fast food napkins, gently drop the bounty in her lap.

“Thank you,” she manages through the remainder of the sobs wracking her body, and when she has a hard time opening the bottle because of the tremors in her hands, he does it for her. Rubbing her knee softly when she gives him an appreciative smile.

“It's okay, kid,” he says. “Just try and stay calm. Everything's okay.”

“It's not. It's really not K. It's fucked up and it's a mess and I wish we'd never had to keep it a secret. But we didn't have a choice. It was to protect you guys. Just in case someone ever wanted revenge on Tyler. Just in case they didn't go right after him and went after family first. We didn't want anything happening to any of you.”

“I get that. I do. I understand why you couldn't say anything. But...Esme...what the fuck right from the beginning? Why would you even get involved in all of this? Why would you even get involved with him?”

“It just happened. We didn't go into it wanting it to happen. Or expecting it to happen, It just did. And then it kept happening. For the entire five days we were there. We couldn't stop. And then when the job was done...my job was done...we realized that we wanted to keep seeing each other. We were going to take some of the money we were paid and travel. Spend time getting to know each other. To see if we could have something. Something real.”

“But why? Why would you want that for yourself? Someone like him? That does that for a living? Something that's dangerous and scary and...”

“Being a firefighter is scary and dangerous,” she interjects.

“Being a firefighter and being a trained killer are two totally different things.”

“He isn't a trained killer. I mean, he is. If he has to be. He kills because he has to. He doesn't do many jobs where he has to kill people intentionally. Like assassinations or hits.”

“Oh my God,” Kyle groans. “This just goes from bad to worse.”

“He mostly does extractions. Like he did for Ovi. He gets hired to save people. And sometimes he kills other people to save them. To save himself.”

“Are you listening to yourself right now? Are you? Your husband kills people. And he gets paid for it. Does that sound at all normal to you?”

“I just told you! He doesn't just kill people. He helps people. Sometimes he has to kill. Especially if it's to save himself.”

“Jesus...fucking...Christ...” Kyle mutters. “And you're okay with this? That he has to sometimes kill people?'

“It is what it is. It's the job. The people he kills deserve to be killed. He's not killing innocent people.”

“How do you know that? How do you know someone doesn't hire to take out someone that is innocent?”

“Because I know Tyler. And Tyler would not do that. Every job he takes, he's very thorough and very detailed and he leaves no stone unturned. And he has great instincts and they never let him down.”

“I can't believe you're trying to rationalize this. How long has he been doing this?”

“Since he left the army. So about fifteen years, almost sixteen years, I guess.”

“And he's still doing it ? Even though you guys are married and have kids.”

She nods. “This is his last job. He has two kids he has find. They're being held somewhere in New Zealand.”

“And you came home because...”

“Because I knew he wouldn't be able to focus if I was there. That he'd be too worried about me and his head wouldn't be right into the job and those kids need him to be totally on his game. He wouldn't have been if I'd stayed.”

“Why? You're a big girl. You can take care of yourself. What would he be worried about?”

“I'm pregnant,” she reveals. “He didn't want anything happening to the baby.”

“Esme are you serious? You're pregnant? You're having a baby?”

She nods.

“Holy fuck...” he runs a hand over his hair and down onto his face. “....what the hell have you gotten yourself into? Are you sure? That you are?”

“I'm one hundred percent sure. We've been trying. To have a baby. It's just happened sooner than we thought it would.”

“You're willingly bringing a baby into this goddamn mess?”

“I already have four. Tyler's been a mercenary longer than any of them have been alive.”

“Is that why you sent them away? With Ovi? Because of this mercenary shit?”

“Someone was after Tyler. They threatened to grab the kids and hurt them. So Tyler told Ovi to take the kids and run. To protect them.”

“This is insane,” Kyle breathes. “This is fucking insane. My brother law kills people for a living.”

“Stop it!” she orders. “That's not all he does. He helps people.”

“I'm going to break his fucking neck. I'm going to hunt him down and I am going to beat the ever loving shit out of him.”

“For what? What has he done? Other than provide for his family?”

“What has he done?” He's gotten you...my sister...mixed up in this bullshit. In this life!”

“He didn't get me mixed up in anything. He didn't force me to stay with him. To fall in love with him. I did all of that willingly. It's not like he held a gun to my head and forced me to have sex with him or to marry him. You can't blame this entirely on him.”

“Like hell I can't! He got mixed up with you knowing what kind of life it would bring you. He could have just walked away and left you alone. And that's what he should have done. Even if you guys just fucked each other and then went your separate ways! But to get you tied up in more than that? Let you get mixed up in that life? He should have just fucked you and left you alone.”

She smirks. “I honestly never thought I'd hear you say that. That a guy should have just fucked your sister and took off.”

“I never thought I'd have to say it. But this isn't a normal guy. He's a fucking mercenary! He kills people!”

“And saves people,” she reminds her brother.

“I don't give a shit. Killing people sort of takes the shine away from saving them, don't you think? He had this life all along and he never should have let you get mixed up in it. If you loved you the way he says he does, he would have cut you loose. He wouldn't have wanted you to live this life. Why would you want this for someone you love?”

“Kyle, I got into this life knowing what he did and knowing what he's capable of. He didn't force me into anything, okay? You can't hold Tyler totally responsible for this. Because he's a good man and he's a good husband and he's a great father. And you can't deny him any of those things.”

“I didn't say he wasn't any of those things. But just because he's those things, doesn't mean he's not a goddamn hired killer.”

“For the last time!” she shouts. “That's not all he does! He helps people! Innocent people like Ovi! And if wasn't for Tyler, I never would have gotten out of Dhaka alive. So you need to shut the fuck about him being 'hired killer' and show him some respect. Because he's so much more than his job. So much more! And if you'd all give him a goddamn chance, you'd realize that and stop shitting all over him all the time!”

“Whoa...whoa...settle down. I'm not mom. I don't hate the guy. You know that.”

“He's my husband. He's the father of my children. And I am fucking sick of how she treats him all the time. Because he doesn't deserve that. He's not the horrible person she thinks he is. That she tells everyone he is.”

“I know that. And I've never thought that about him. Ever. Like I said, he's a good shit. And he treats you well and he treats my niece and my nephews even better. And you know much I adore those kids. Like they're my own. I would do anything for those kids. And they wouldn't be here if it wasn't for him kicking in some DNA.”

“I'm just so tired of her shit and I know she's going to get on a tirade about him and I'm not in the fucking mood to deal with that. I'm worried about him and I miss him and I'm sick all the time and I'm so goddamn hormonal because of this baby!”

“Alright...easy...easy...” Kyle chuckles, and rubs the back of her neck soothingly. “Just calm down.”

“I don't know what is wrong with me. It is so bad this time around. My hormones are out of control! They've never been this bad before.”

“”You're kidding right? They have been this bad before.”

“When?”

“When you were pregnant with the twins. You were off the charts insane when you were having them. Don't you remember? You were either crying or you were raging. No in between. Who was the one that was there? When Tyler was away? Who came to spend time with you and help out with Millie? I did. I was the one who had to bear the brunt of your hormones. I remember it very well.”

“Maybe I was a little...off.”

“A little off the reservation, maybe,” Kyle laughs and she glares at him.

“You're going be okay, kid,” he assures her. “You and that baby are going to be just fine. And I promise I won't kill Tyler when he gets home.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that. Because I kind of like him and I like having him around.”

“I may break some of his bones or mess up that face of his.”

“Yeah, not the face, okay? He's kind of nice to look at it and I'd like to keep him that way. Just don't go off on him. He's having a hard time and he doesn't need that shit. He's trying so hard. To keep his shit together. To keep us together. He's not a bad person, K.”

“I know he's not. And I know he's wildly and crazily in love with you. I've never doubted that for a second. I just worry about you, Esme. This is a hell of a life to be caught up in.”

“He's keep me and the kids safe for five and a half years. I trust him. With my life. With their lives. I'm safe with him. We're safe with him.”

Kyle nods slowly, considering her words.

“I just want this to be over with,” she laments. “I just want him to come home. And stay home. Is that too much to ask?”

“You'd have to ask him that. Does he want to give it up?”

“This is his last job. He's done after this. And it's time. Because it's starting to break him down. I hate what it's doing to him. What it's doing to us. I just want him home.”

“Soon,” Kyle says. “I'm sure whatever he's up to, it'll be over soon and he'll be back. He'll come home, kid. You know he will.”

She nods in confirmation, then leans the side of her head against the cool glass of the window. Seeking some relief for the overwhelming fear and loneliness threatening to swallow her whole.


	50. Chapter 50

“You know,” Kyle says, as he parks his truck in front of their mother's home. Nik's already arrived; standing at the side of the Lincoln Navigator, flanked by her two security specialists while speaking to Michelle. Sunglasses still covering her eyes, a hand on her cocked hip. “You don't have to stay here. You could always just come and hang out at my place until Tyler gets back.”

“You live in a one bedroom apartment,” Esme reminds him. “There's going to be four kids, Ovi and his girlfriend, Nik and her people....”

“So I take you back to your place and stay there with you,” he suggests. “Keep an eye on things. Spend time with the kids when they get back. Help you out. I've got some vacation time owed to me and I know I could pull some strings and get some immediate time off.”

“K, as tough and as bad ass as you are, these people that are after Tyler aren't the kind you want to be messing with. Trust me. So as much as I appreciate you wanting to help out and wanting me to be comfortable, this is unfortunately the best of a bad situation.”

He smirks. “When mom is the best of a bad situation, that's when you know the situation is FUBAR'D.”

She gives a snort. “Definitely FUBAR'D.”

“Try not to let her get to you. I know it's hard. Trust me, I know. She's going to be losing her shit as soon as you walk into that house. She's going to drag Tyler through the mud and you know it. She's been just raging about him since you said you were coming home. And like I said, she's already got names and numbers of divorce lawyers.

Esme shakes her head. “Why does she have to be like this? Why can't she just give him a break? Why can't she just see him the way I see him? The way you see him, even. You don't hate him.”

“Never did. I was a little pissed that my little sister ran off with some strange guy and decided to stay half way around the world. But you're an adult and you can do whatever the hell you want. No matter how stupid I think you are. I wasn't going to hold it against him because you made the choices you did. It's not his fault you think with your p...”

She slugs him in the shoulder. Hard. “Don't you even finish that sentence!”

“Heart. I was going to say heart.”

“Like hell you were. And maybe at first I did think with my...well you know...” she nods down at her lap. “...but that's not all it was, okay?”

“Well obviously. Or you wouldn't have married the guy and had four kids. Or is it four and a half now? Four and a quarter?”

“You can be a real shit head.”

“But I'm a lovable shit head. And the best big brother.”

“Considering the other ones are all assholes, you don't have much competition,” she teases.

“That's harsh, Esme. Way harsh. Look, I'm glad things worked out with you and Tyler. That the guy actually survived what he did and you two ended up together and I ended up having all those kids I get to spoil the shit out of. I've never hated him. And I don't hate him now that I know who he really is.”

“He's still Tyler, K. He's still the Tyler you know. Being a mercenary doesn't change that. There's job Tyler and there's Tyler. And I need you to realize that and accept it. Because I love you, but I love him more. And if you can't accept him now that you know, then....” she shrugs. “....I don't know. Maybe it means you don't come around anymore. Maybe you become nothing more than another person to send Christmas cards to.”

“You can't get rid of me that easily, kid,” he playfully tousles her hair. “I'm freaked out by what you told me,” he admits. “It's not every day you learn your brother in law is a soldier for hire. But, I know how much he loves you. How good he's been for you. And I know how much he loves those kids. So if you're cool with it and you can accept this whole job Tyler and normal Tyler thing, than so can I. Okay?” he taps the end of his index finger against the tip of her nose. “Are you sure you want to do this? I could find room at my place for everyone.”

“As much as I appreciate the offer, your bachelor pad slash den of inequity is not the place I want my children spending too much time in. I'll be okay. And if she really gets on my nerves, I can always punch her in the throat.”

He grins. “Remember that time you kneed the older kid in the face on the playground because he was picking on one of your friends? What were you? Like eight?”

She nods. “And he was in grade six. Tommy Chambers. That ignorant little fucker.”

“You busted up his nose real good. Embarrassed the shit out of him., too. Remember how his mom came to the house after school? Totally freaking out when dad answered the door. Ranting and raving about his kid fucking up hers and just going on and on and on. You should have seen her face when dad told her that it was his eight year old did it. And not just any eight year old. His eight year old daughter. Lady about nearly shit her pants. I know you got in deep shit over that, but I'd honestly never seen dad so proud of you as he did at that moment.”

She smiles at the memory. “I miss him. Even now.”

“Yeah, so do I. It's been a long time.”

She nods. 

“You've done good, kid. With your life. Regardless of what mom says. Dad would be proud of you. I'm not so sure how he'd handle the whole 'my son in law is a mercenary thing', but he'd like Tyler. I know he would. He would have given him a chance. Probably would have called him Crocodile Dundee.”

Esme laughs at that.

“Remember how much he loved that movie? Tyler would have gotten so sick of that and wanted to punch him in the face.”

“He would have put up with it, though. He's been called a lot worse, believe me.”

“Yeah, you've got quite the gutter mouth on you when you get going. Guy's got a foot and almost a hundred pounds on you and you just light into him and he takes it.”

“I wasn't talking about me, you asshole!” she uses her thumb and index finger to flick him in the earlobe. 

“See? That's what I mean. You're feisty. You don't take shit. From anyone. That's why you guys work so well together. He can handle you. Not like that first prick you married,” he looks up the windshield at where a clearly agitated and unamused Nik is still listening to their mother rant and rave. “Can't believe someone that looks like her would be with someone like Mark. Guy's a troll. First my sister and now her? What the hell is that about?”

“You should get out there and rescue her from the Wicked Witch of the Mid-West. I know how you can't resist flexing your muscles and playing the firefighter card for damsels in distress.”

“Something tells me she is far from being a damsel in distress. Something tells me she could totally kick my ass.”

“Oh, she definitely could. But I know you and I know that makes you even more interested.”

He grins. “You're not wrong.”

“Seriously, go,” she jabs her elbow into his ribs, pushing his towards his door. “Go and rescue her from such torment and torture. No one deserves what mom can unleash. Get out there and go and give her that smile of yours and let her see those pretty blue eyes. No woman can resists those eyes. Not even Nik.”

“She's a hard sell?”

Esme nods. “Just a bit.”

“Perfect,” his grin broadens. “You know I love a good challenge.”  
“Then do it!” she encourages her brother. “Get out there and introduce yourself and impress her with your boyish charm and all your muscles. Go! Or I will drag you over there and throw you at her feet.”

“Like some kind of sexual offering to a goddess,” he muses.

“Would you go, you fuck head!” Esme laughs. “Go out there and get mom away from her. You're a great catch. Even Nik will see that. And think of it this way, if you can manage to land Nik, that's a total kick in the nuts to Mark. And I know how much you love Mark.”

“It would be nice to get one last shot in at the guy. I didn't get nearly enough shots in when I beat him up in front of that hooker.”

“Then go! Go and charm her, Romeo. You can do it. I have faith in you. She needs a good guy. A normal guy. And you're as close to normal as anyone I know of, so...”

“What about your bags? I need to...”

“You can get them afterwards. There's no rush. Would you just do it? She's worth it, K. Way worth it. And I've heard she's quite the wild one in the sack. She could give you a run for your money.”

“Yeah? Think so?”

“Go!” she orders. “Before I call her over here and totally embarrass you in front of her. I'm not going in yet, anyway. I have to call Tyler first.”

“No phone sex in my truck!” he orders, as he tosses open the driver's side door.

“He wanted me to call when I got here so he knows I'm safe. Get your mind out of the gutter. You can put it back in there when you get Nik alone.”

“I won't be putting my mind in the gutter if that happens. I'll be putting something else in there.”

“You're a pig! Don't make me regret suggesting this! Get out there. Make me proud.”

“You're my favourite sister, just so you know,” he says, giving her a wink before climbing out of the truck and shutting the door behind him.

*****

The shrill ring of his personal cell phone tears Tyler from his sleep. He's still fully clothed, including boots, in the middle of the bed; flat on his stomach, a forearm tucked under the pillow his face rests again. At first he's startled; disoriented even. The room is dark aside from the moonlight that streams through the patio doors, and his brain doesn't immediately register...or remember, for that matter...why the bed is empty beside him. It causes a brief moment of panic; head snapping up, furtively glancing around the dark room, about to call out to her when all of his senses return and it occurs to him that he's alone. That she's thousands of miles away. And it's all his fault.

His cell rests on her pillow and he blindly reaches for it, using his free hand to wipe sleep out of his eyes as he answers the call on the fourth ring.

“Yeah?”

“Hey,” her voice is tired, but there's a enough cheerfulness to it that eases some of the guilt he's been feeling.

“Hey,” he presses the heel of his palm into one of his eyes, anxious to rid of himself of that last little bit of lingering fogginess.

“Did I wake you up?”

“I must have dozed off.”

“Are you alone?”

“Why wouldn't I be?”

“Thought maybe you'd had a wild night at a peeler bar and brought back a stripper,” she teases. “Or you only do things like that when you're in Russia?”

He grins. “It was actually Serbia. But Yaz doesn't understand geography. And no. There's no stripper here. I already sent her home.”

She laughs at that. And it's music to his ears. “You're lucky I know you're being a smart ass. And you're also lucky I love you as much as I do.”

“Yeah,” he smiles. “I am.”

“What time is it there?”

He glances towards the digital clock on the nightstand. “Midnight.”

“I didn't mean to wake you up,” her voice is apologetic. 

“It's okay,” he assures her, and rolls over onto his back. The agony isn't as intense as it usually is; he's been religiously taken the pain meds -as prescribed- and it's managed to keep things dull and bearable. And the Valium for his PTSD has kept the anxiety and most of the hyper-vigilance under control; mellowing him without making him feel like a zombie. “It was a long night. I didn't get in until ten thirty. Must have just lied down, planning to just close my eyes, and fell asleep.”

“Where were you?” she inquires, and he knows what she's asking.

“We gave McMann to the IRA tonight. It was time to hand him over. Whatever happens to him now, it's in their hands. And no, I didn't actually go into the storage place. I waited outside. I would have stayed away entirely, but they wouldn't take him unless I was the one to give him to them, so...”

“I understand,” she says, and it's genuine. “Are you okay?”

“I'm better.”

“Good. I was worried about you.”

“When don't you worry about me? I'm okay. I miss you. But I'm okay.”

“I miss you, too. I didn't think I'd miss you this much, this fast.”

Tyler grins. “I guess I should be flattered.”

“Yeah,” she laughs. “You should. I don't get all weepy over just any man, you know.”

“But, I'm not just any man.”

“No,” she agrees. “You're not. You never have been. You make the quite impression, Tyler Rake. In more ways that one. You're not just a pretty face.”

He chuckles at that. “How's things going there?”

“I haven't actually gone inside yet. I'm still sitting in the truck. Trying to prepare myself for my mother's bullshit. Apparently she's already googled divorce lawyers and has all the numbers written out.”

“Well, as long as you're not planning on using any of them...”

“We are far from that stage,” she assures him. “We are, right? Far from that stage?”

“I already told you, you're stuck with me. Right until the bitter end. You're not getting rid of me and I'm not getting rid of you. You're not getting rid of me, are you?”

“Never,” she declares. 

“Tell her to fuck off. Or better yet, I'll call her and tell her to fuck off. I thought maybe things were better between us, after our little talk, but I guess not. She knows how to hold a grudge, that's for sure. Now I know where you get it from.”

“She isn't holding a grudge. She's being a bitch. She has no reason to hold a grudge against you. You haven't done anything wrong.”

“I seduced her precious, innocent daughter. Knocked her up. When we weren't even married yet.”

“I guess I shouldn't tell her that I let you choke me and pull my hair while you were seducing me.”

“Not unless you want to have her totally lose her last shred of sanity. Not that that would be a bad thing. We could lock her away somewhere. Completely ignore her. Never have to worry or think about her ever again.”

“Or we could just move back to Australia. That way she wouldn't be able to just show up on our doorstep.”

“Where'd that come from? Talking about moving back there?”

“I've been thinking about it,” she admits. “A lot. That things were so much simpler when we lived there. It's more laid back and the people are friendly and it's a better place to raise kids. We were happier there. You were happier there.”

“I'm happy in Colorado. I'm happy wherever you are. Wherever the kids are. You know that. And it was my idea to move to Colorado in the first place, remember? It's not like you forced me to move there. I'm the one that brought it up and practically forced you into it. So...”

“You're happy here, but you're nowhere near as happy as you were in Australia. It's your home, Tyler.”

“And Colorado is your home,” he points out.

“It stopped being my home a long ago. I didn't even want to come here in the first place. But we needed a change of pace and a change of scenery and I've tried my best to like it here. I really have. But I don't want to be here. I want to go back. To Australia.”

“Babe, going back there won't make things like they were five and a half years ago. Just because we go back doesn't mean things will go back the way they were. It doesn't work like that.”

“But we'll be happier,” she says. “Away from my family. Both of us were so much happier when we were thousands of miles away from their shit We had our own life and we didn't worry about all the crap that goes on here. IT was just you and me and Millie and it was perfect.”

“It's not just you and me and Millie anymore,” Tyler reminds her.

“The kids would thrive here. You know they would. There's good schools here and we could live in a small town. Close to the beach. That's your happy place.”

“You're my happy place.”

“You can't deny that things were better when we lived there. That we were both so much happier. We were more relaxed, we had less stress, we didn't worry about the shit we worry about here. It's a different way of life down there. And that's the way of life I want back. That I want for my kids. And for you. I just want you to be happy, Tyler.”

“I am happy. With you and my kids. You know that.”

“But you'd be even happier if we moved back. You know you would. I don't want you thinking I'm just saying this for you. We need this. Our marriage needs this. We need to go back to where we were the happiest. Where things seemed so much easier. And it will be better for the kids. We'll be happier, less stressed, there will be less tension in the house. They feel all of that. And I'd rather they didn't. You can't tell me that you wouldn't go back. I know you would. I know you miss it, Tyler. It's your home. You spent thirty six years there. And then you gave that up because you thought being here would make me happy. And it has. But not as happy as I was when we were in Australia.”

“Esme, if that's really what you want...”

“You need to want it too. This isn't just about me. You need to want to go back. Do you? Want to go back?”

“Yeah,” he admits. “I do.”

“Then let's just do it. Let's just go. We can put the house here on the market. Or maybe even Kyle could take it over. Let's go pack up and go back.”

'Babe, it's not that easy. We have four kids. One on the way. We can't just pack up and leave. We have to plan things. We need a place to live before we move back there. I'm not doing the hotel thing again. Not with four kids and one on the way. When I get home, we'll look at places online. And we'll make plans. We can't just pack shit up and go. Maybe if it was just us. Or if we just had Millie. But things have changed since then. A lot of things have changed.”

“And money,” she sighs. “It's not like we have a lot.”

“Actually, we don't have to worry about that any more. Money.”

“What do you mean? What...?”

“The IRA paid me. And they paid me big. For getting McMann and handing him over.”

“Big as in?”

“Five million dollars.”

“Jesus Christ!” she shrieks. “What? Tyler, are you serious?”

“I am dead serious.”

“But why? Why so much? Why?”

“Flynn just handed me a check. Told me to retire and take care of my wife and my kids. I didn't even look at until I got back to the hotel. All he said was that they appreciated me busting my ass to get McMann and be so willing to hand him over. That they take care of the people who do them a solid. That's all he said.”

“But that much? Five million dollars?!

“I guess that's what a guy like McMann is worth. So money isn't a problem. That's the last thing you need to worry about now. The last thing we need to worry about. I can walk away for good and know that I can take care of my family. I don't even need to take that other job Nik offered. I can just get out of this entirely and we can leave and never look back. If that's what you want.”

“It's what I want,” she says. 

“When I get home, we'll start planning everything. Tomorrow I'm going to the bank and I'm going to put the money into our account. I thought I should tell you before you went to take money out and saw the balance.”

“I would have fainted!” she laughs. “Oh my God, Tyler. This is...I don't know...this is...”

“Huge,” he finishes for her.

“Yeah,” she agrees. “I don't even known what to say. This is insane. That they'd give you that much. I wasn't even expecting them to give you anything, to be honest. So this is very pleasant surprise.”

“A five million dollar surprise. I get to walk away, baby. For good. I don't have to ever think about this job ever again. You don't ever again have to worry about me walking out the door and not coming back. This is it. All I have to do now is find those kids, get them out of there, and come home.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“I've done hundreds of extractions. You know that.”

“Not against the Buckmans, you haven't. Please tell me you're not going in there alone, Tyler. Not when you have to get two people and yourself out of there.”

“That Nathan kid is going to come in with me. Zak and Mark are going to watch the outside. Not so sure I trust Mark that much, but I don't have much of a choice. I think he'd sooner see someone put a bullet in my head than actually help me out. Probably so he could run back to you and do the whole 'comfort the grieving widow' bullshit.”

“Try not to let him get to you. He just wants to get under your skin and rile you up. Speaking of getting under Mark's skin and riling him up, I think I found a way to really get him where it hurts.”

“Yeah? Kick him in the nuts?”

“Figuratively, maybe. My brother is in the process of trying to pick up Nik. I'm going to send you a picture. They're looking very cozy.”

He waits as she puts the call on hold, and within seconds there's a notification as she sends the photo to him. A picture of Nik and Kyle, shoulders touching as they both lean back against an SUV, smiles on their faces. It's a smile he's never seen on Nik before; her features much softer, eyes sparkling. 

“Did you get it?” Esme asks.

“Yeah. I got it. I should send this to Mark. Just to be a prick.”

“Nik will get pissed for sure. You know she'll freak out on us. Especially me for sneaking a pic. Just hold onto it. In case you need it.”

“Blackmail,” he grins. “Nice.”

“They'd make a cute couple, don't you think? Kyle and Nik?”

“Well he's better than Mark, that's for sure. I don't know if he'd be able to handle Nik.”

“You were able to handle Nik,” she points out.

“There was nothing to handle. There wasn't a me and Nik. It was just sex. We fucked, she left. End of story. So don't start. And speaking of fucking...”

“And you tell me not to start,” she teases.

“That's what I wish I was doing right now. Fucking. You.”

“Well, as much as I'd like to indulge from thousands of miles away, I told my brother I would not partake in phone sex with you in his truck. But if you call me when you get up in the morning....”

“It'll be night time in Colorado,” he reminds her.

“Exactly. So I can get away from the wicked witch of the Midwest by saying I'm tired and then I can actually be talking to you and...”

“You have a filthy mind.”

“Listen, you dragged me down into the gutter with you five and a half years ago and I've stayed down there. And your voice does crazy things to my insides, so...”

He grins. “What kind of crazy things?”

“Phone me later and I'll tell you. As much as I want to right now and as much as my hormones are out of control, now is not a good time. And you need to get some sleep.”

“I'd sleep better if I could fuck you first. That always helps me sleep better.”

“Well then go and 'study' by yourself,” she suggests.

“Not the same thing and you know it.”

“Then you're going to have to be patient. Get some sleep, Tyler. I'm sorry I woke you up.”

“Don't be. I wanted you to call. So I know you got there safe and sound. I love you. Both of you.”

“I'm sure Kyle loves you too.”

“I meant you and the baby, smart ass.”

She giggles. “I know. And we love you too. Make sure you call me later. I have an itch that really needs scratched and you can help. Even if it is from thousands of miles away.”

“You expect me to sleep when that's all I'm going to be thinking about now?”

“If I have to suffer until later, so do you. Call me.”

“I will,” he promises. 

“And be safe, okay? Be safe and be smart.”

“You know I will. And try not to kill your mother. I'm a little far away to come and bail you out of jail. Although if the cops know your mother, they'd let you of on reasons of justifiable homicide. Talk soon, yeah?”

“Very soon,” she confirms, and then disconnects the call.

****

Her mother barely acknowledges her arrival; never mind a warm embrace or even a reassuring smile. Not looking up from the meal she's preparing at the stove, vigorously stirring the contents of a simmering sauce pot as others boil and bubble around it. 

“You cooking for an army?” Kyle asks, as he lays a comforting and supportive hand on the small of Esme's back and escorts her into the kitchen, making sure she's settled herself into a chair at the table before moving to the stove and pressing a chaste kiss to their mother's cheek. “That's a lot of food.”

“Well, I've got all these extra people to feed. Nicole and her...whatever the hell they are...”

“Her name isn't Nicole,” Esme speaks up. “It's Nik.”

Her mother fixes her with a steely gaze. “Was I speaking to you? You're the last one that should be opening their mouth. Considering I had to take you in at the last minute. All because your life finally blew up in your face like I told you it would right from the bloody beginning. I knew you'd end up back here,” she huffs. “When he decided he didn't want you anymore.”

“That's not what happened,” Kyle says. “That is far from what happened. So maybe not freak out on her until you know the whole truth.”

“What is there to know that I already don't know? That he's a lying, cheating bastard that isn't good enough for my daughter?”

“When did this conversation become about Mark?” Esme pipes up, and Kyle smirks.

“Don't get smart with me, young lady!” her mother hisses. “I told you five and a half years ago that this was going to happen. When you all showed up in the middle of the night, looking for a place to stay. You and him and that kid and the baby. I wanted to turn you all away. I didn't want that mess here. I didn't want him here.”

“He has a fucking name,” Esme snaps. “Call him by his goddamn name. I hate when you do that! He has a name and you need to call him by it. It's not 'he' or 'him' or 'that boy' or 'trouble maker'. Enough with that shit. His name is Tyler.”

“I won't say his name in my house. I can think of many other things to call him and not one of them are very nice. You sitting there, still defending him. Always defending him. No matter what he does wrong.”

“What has he done wrong? Absolutely nothing. He's done nothing to me or the kids in the past five and a half years. All he's done is work his ass off to make sure we have a roof over our heads, food on the table, clothes on our backs, that the bills are paid.”

“She's right,” Kyle says. “Tyler hasn't done anything wrong. Not by her, not by the kids.”

Michelle glares at him. “And now you're defending him?”

“Someone fucking has to. I'm not just going to sit back while you have a go at Esme about him. He's not a bad guy, mom.”

“Yes. Yes he is. He's a very bad guy and he shouldn't be around my daughter or my grandchildren. Do you know what he does? Do you know how he makes the money to pay everything?”

“Esme told me. On the way here.”

“And you're okay with that?”

“Well, I'm not over the goddamn moon about it but it is what it is. It doesn't change the fact that he's a good guy and that he's always treated her right and he's always treated his kids right. Just because you have a war to wage against him, doesn't mean we all do. You need to get over it. It was five and a half years ago. And Esme's a grown woman and she can do what she wants. She chose to stay in Australia with him. She chose to get married, have kids, the whole nine.”

“And now look,” their mother huffs. “Now look at the mess she's in. Four kids and no husband because he turned out to be just bad as I said he was.”

“You're jumping the gun, mom. Esme and Tyler are still together. He's still her husband. So maybe you need to chill the hell out and listen to what she has to say.”

“Excuse me?” she stomps across the room, pointing a wooden spoon in her daughter's face. “You're still with him? Did I just hear your brother right? You're still with him?”

“Of course I am. Why would you think I'm not?”

“After everything he's put you through in the past five and a half years? After every lie he's told you, every promise he's broken, after leaving you while you were having problems while pregnant with the twins? After all that you're still with him. Why?”

“Because I love him, mother. Because he's not the terrible person you're making him up to be. Yes, we've had our issues.”

She snorts as she stomps back to the stove. “That's putting it lightly. Look at the mess you're in right now. The mess we are in all. Because of his job. Fine upstanding citizen that he is.”

“Okay, that's enough,” Kyle gently orders. “Regardless of what Tyler does for a living, he's kept your daughter and your grandkids safe for five and a half years. He's done nothing but love them and take care of them. So maybe give the guy a chance for once. Cut him some slack.”

“Never. He will get nothing from me. Ever. Maybe this time, this will be the job that finishes him off. Maybe he will die this time. That'll be the best that could happen for her and those kids.”

“How the fuck could you say that?!” Esme rages, and storms over to her mother. “That is my husband! How dare you fucking say that about him?!”

“You get out of my face, young lady, or...”

“Or what? What are you going to do? How can you be such a horrible person? How could you even say something that. About my husband. About the father of my children! That you wish he would die! How fucking dare you?!”

“Okay...okay...” Kyle steps between them, laying his hands on her shoulders. “...you need to calm down, kid. Take it easy. You don't want anything going wrong. You won't want anything happening to the baby.”

“Baby?” Michelle shoves her son out of the way. “Now there's a baby? What is wrong with you? Why would you do something like this? What are you? Nothing more than a whore to him?”

“You mean like the whore you were while we were growing up?” Esme retorts, and receives a slap across the face in response. Her eyes narrow, her brow furrows. “You did not just put your hands on me.”

“First thing tomorrow, you're calling the doctor and you're getting something done about that,” her mother nods in the direction of her stomach. “The last thing you need to be doing is bringing a baby into this mess.”

“You're sick, mom. There is something seriously wrong with you! First you wish death on my husband, now you want me to get rid of his baby? Your grandchild?”

“That is no grandchild of mine,” she hisses.

“So then none of the other four are, either. Is that what you're saying? Because Tyler's their father? You want nothing to do with any of them because whose DNA they share? Are you serious right now?”

“As long as you're still with him, you're not welcome in this house. That's just the way it is. As long as you're still with him, you're dead to me. All of you are.”

“That's a little fucking harsh,” Kyle speaks up. “She's your daughter. Those are your grandchildren. Just because you have a hard on for hating Tyler doesn't mean you say shit like you're saying. Wishing him dead? Wishing an unborn baby dead? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I should have known you'd be on her side,” Michelle snarls. “On his side.”

“Of course I am! He hasn't done anything wrong! Jesus Christ. You hate on Tyler for bullshit reasons but Mark actually beat the shit out of her...on multiple occasions...and you love him. What is wrong with you? “What....?” he stops mid sentence when he fells his sister's hand tightly grip his jacket, and when he glances over, her eyes are closed. “...what's wrong? Are you okay?”

“Just dizzy. I'll be fine. I just need to sit down. I'm just so dizzy.”

“Here,” he curls an arm around her waist, attempting to escort her to a chair before he feels her go totally limp against him.


	51. Chapter 51

“I do not need a goddamn wheelchair.” Esme grumbles, five hours later, as Kyle pushes her out of the front entrance of their local hospital. “I can walk on my own.”

“Well considering you fainted once at mom's, and twice while you were here, I think it's safe to say you shouldn't be walking anywhere on your own right now.”

“People faint,” she shrugs.

“Pregnant women shouldn't faint. And they especially shouldn't faint three times. You heard what the doctor said. You're severely dehydrated, your blood pressure is sky high, and when you fainted, you managed to hit your head, give yourself a concussion, and receive seven stitches for your trouble.” 

She frowns at the last part; gingerly touching the bandage that covers the injury in question that runs down some of her forehead and into her right eyebrow. 

“So now you have a prescription he wants you to get, and you've got this handy dandy portable IV...” he nods down at the small back like device resting in her lap, the needle of the IV having been inserted into the top of her left hand and secured with clear tape. “A nurse will come every day to check on it. To change the bag and see if the line is still good. Just be thankful that you get to go home. If I had my way, I would have had you admitted for a couple of days at least.”

“Well good thing firefighters have no pull when it comes to those things. Because I do not need to be in the hospital. All I need, is to be as far away from mom as possible. Can you believe the things she said? Who says shit like that? Who wishes death on their own son in law? Or basically suggests her married daughter gets an abortion because mommy dearest doesn't like said son in law?”

“Look, what mom said was completely out of line and I think she's a huge bitch for saying any of it. But stop thinking about it. Because what she said and how you reacted is how you ended up here in the first place. So let's not talk about mom at all, okay? I'll take you home and keep an eye on you. You'll be more comfortable there than at my place. In your own bed, surrounded by all your stuff.”

Nik had assured them that it would be perfectly safe to return to the house; she and the security team would be there around the clock, and they were more than capable of both spotting and diffusing threats.

“Not everything,” she sighs. “My kids aren't there. My husband isn't there.”

“Well, he will be, Because he's on his way back.”

“Wait...wait...” she clamps her hands down on the wheels of the chair, preventing them from turning. “...what do you mean he's on his way back? You called him? You actually called him? Why the hell would you do that?”

“I didn't call him. Nik did.”

“Why? She didn't need to do that. Why the hell...?”

“Oh I don't know why she would do that, Esme. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that you're his wife and you're pregnant with his baby and you nearly just got admitted to the damn hospital!”

“I just fainted. When did it become such a serious issue for someone to faint? It's not life or death.”

“Okay, first of all, it's never normal for someone to just faint unless there's an underlying issue. Second, you're having a baby. So there isn't just a concern with your health, but with the baby's health too. You're not the type that gets sick easily and you don't normally have health problems. But, you have to admit, with the twins and Declan, there were problems. A lot of problems. Especially with the twins. So don't you think it's better to get you looked at and see if there's something else going on? With either of you?”

“It's just stress. The doctor asked if I've been under a lot of stress and I have. Huge stress. And then mom started with her shit and...”

“Listen, it's just better if things are taken seriously. They did some tests and some blood work and if anything is wrong, they'll let you know. Better to be safe than sorry, right?”

She nods.

“If nothing is wrong, then great. If something is wrong, then at least they found it and at least they can do something about it. Why do you have to be like this? So damn stubborn? Of all the things you had to inherit from dad, it had to be one of the worst possible things.”

“Well you inherited his looks so the joke's on you,” she teases.

“Are you trying to say I'm ugly?” he grins.

“I'm trying to say when you were born, mom said 'what a treasure' and dad said 'yeah, let's bury it'.”

Kyle chuckles. “I should dump you out of this wheelchair for saying that.”

“You'd never. You love me too much. Since we were kids and you used to beat up the bullies that used to teased me because I liked to climb trees and play with Transformers and GI Joe's instead of dolls.”

“I tell you, you could throw a left hook better than any of the guys I knew. They were just jealous. Because you were cooler than they were and I liked to hang out with you more than them. I'll stay with you okay? Keep an eye on you. Make sure you're eating and drinking and taking it easy. I already called my boss and he said to take a couple days and call him if I need more time. I'll hang around until Tyler gets here.”

“I still can't believe Nik called him,” Esme huffs. “This is the last thing he needs on his plate. He's already got enough stress with having to go New Zealand and find those kids. He doesn't need to be worrying about me too. You should have just left it alone and not told him.”

“Kid, he's your husband. There was never an option of not telling him. I think he cares more about you and this baby than he does about some fucking job. I get its kids that are involved. I get how bad that sucks and how horrible it is. I really do. But someone else can finish the job. He's not the only mercenary out there.”

“He feels he needs to finish it. That he started it and it's up to him to get them.”

“Well he's obviously changed his mind because he's on his way home.”

“For good?”

“I don't know. I didn't talk to him. Like I said, Nik called him. And apparently he flipped his shit and told her to get him on the first flight home and that's what she did. So despite what mom thinks about him, he obviously cares more about you and the baby than he does about the job. If he didn't, he wouldn't have insisted that he was coming home even after Nik assured him that things weren't that serious.”

“And you call me stubborn? Tyler is way worse than I am.”

“He's not stubborn. He loves you. There's never been a doubt of that, that's for sure. I mean, if he can put up with your shit for this long, he must love you.”

“Or he's just a glutton for punishment.”

“Hey, you said it, not me,” he pushes the wheelchair as close as he can to the front passenger side door of his truck, and then sits the brakes and squeezes between his vehicle and the one parked beside to open the door. “Hey!” he scolds, when she attempts to stand. “I don't think so, kid. Sit your ass down. You don't do anything unless I tell you to, understand?”

“As much as I'm sure Nik will find your assertiveness insanely hot, you're my brother and you don't get to boss me around.”

“The hell I don't. Sit.”

“Fine,” she huffs, and plops back down. “You know, you are more like dad than I realized. He was bossy too,”

“Are you like this at home?” Kyle inquires, as he pops open the door and then helps her out of the chair, hands under her arms for support. “Do you get like this when Tyler tries to help? You get all obstinate and bitchy with him too?”

“Yep. And then he gets mad and we fight and then we have angry sex and things go back to normal.”

“You know what, some things I do not need to know. And that's one of them. Can you get up in there or do you need me to put you over my shoulder and drop you in to your seat?”

“I'm not an invalid, thank you very much. I only fainted.”

“Three times. And stop lying to yourself that there's just that wrong, okay? There's something going on with either you or the baby and it needs to get sorted out. Just let people take care of you, okay? You've spent five and half years either taking care of Tyler or taking care of kids. It's your turn now.”

“Oh just what I want. Sitting on my ass while someone caters to every whim and need...wait a second...” she frowns and cocks her head to the side. “...that actually sounds kind of nice.”

“You deserve someone to wait on you hand and foot, kid. Like the princess you are.”

“Princess? I'm the motherfucking queen, K.”

He just shakes his head and shuts her door.

****

While it's good to be home, it feels strange at the same time. It's empty. Lonely. Way too quiet. Nothing more than furniture and other belongings in empty rooms. No kids running around; no shrieking, no squealing, no giggling, no near constant demands for snacks and juice. No dog barking or following her from room to room, desperate for the attention he isn't receiving (yet definitely is) from the others. No husband out working in the back yard or the garage. While all of their things are there...in the exact places they'd been left...the house and its surroundings seem foreign. As if it belongs to someone else.

“Nik said the guys checked the place,” Kyle says, as he steps out onto the back deck, carrying a bottle of beer for himself, a steaming mug of tea -decaf, as the ER doctor had suggested-, where she sits in one of the oversized Adriondack chairs, a flannel blanket pulled up to her chin, legs stretched out and feet on the wooden railing in front of her. “No sign of any trouble. Maybe those Irish guys already came to town and scared the bad guys away.”

“Or at least chased them somewhere else,” she says, and gives her brother an appreciative smile as he places her drink in the chair's cup holder. 

“It's getting pretty late. You should be getting some rest.”

“It's nine thirty.”

“At night.”

“It's nine thirty,” she stresses. “I haven't gone to bed this early since before I had Millie. Before I got too huge and too uncomfortable and I couldn't sleep properly anyway. You're getting a little too naggy.”

“I'm not naggy,” he argues, as he takes a seat in the chair beside her. “I'm worried about my kid sister. And my niece or nephew. Maybe both. Maybe there's two in there again.”

“Oh God, bite your tongue. Do not wish that on me for a second time. I love my boys to the end of the earth and beyond, that was the most brutal seven and a half months of my entire life. I do not want to go through that again. I'd rather have another nine plus pounder than two at the same time. Besides...” she reaches under her blanket and pulls out the ultrasound photo she's been keeping safe in her possession. “...looks like there's one baby Rake.”

Kyle takes the picture from her, squinting his eyes in an attempt to make out any distinguishing features. “What the hell am I looking at?”

She leans sideways in her seat and begins pointing out various things that the tech had circled. Heart, spine, kidneys, both eyes, nose, and mouth. The radiologist on call had said that everything looked 'perfectly fine' and 'extremely healthy'. All parts existent and working properly, from what he could tell. “I'm a lot further than I thought,” she says to her brother. “I thought maybe two months. Three at the most.”

“And?” he asks.

“Three months, three weeks and two days.”

“Do you know the exact hours and minutes too?”

She rolls her eyes. “I don't know that's the exact time. That's what the tech said based on all the measurements and everything. That's almost four months, K. I don't understand how it can be that far ahead. Nearly four months and I never showed any signs whatsoever? I mean, I missed a period and a half of one but that's nothing. Things have always been screwed up in that respect. That's never been normal.”

“Okay, you're my sister and I do not need to know certain things. Your...cycle...or whatever...is not something I need to know. So it's a bad thing you're this far ahead, or...?”

“It's not that it's bad. It's just weird. Look, when you get married and your wife starts having babies, she will know everything that goes on in her body. And I mean everything. I thought I did know everything that my body is telling me. I mean, I've only been through this three other times, right? Oh no. This time is totally different. I thought I was just run down and stressed and worried and all that crap that comes with Tyler doing what he does. And you know what? He was the one the one who thought I was pregnant. Way before I did. You know what that means?”

Kyle frowns. “What?”

“It means he was right. And when I tell him just how far along I am and that he was right, he will hold that over my head for years. Decades. Because that's what Tyler does. Because Tyler isn't used to being right and when I have to admit he is, he makes my life hell. Well maybe not hell. But he makes it very annoying. And I am not in the mood for that kind of shit. I'm cranky and I'm hormonal and it pains me inside to know I have to admit he was right.”

Her brother laughs. “You two are perfect for each other, I swear. He practically says the same stuff about you.”

“Excuse me? He does what? Have you been talking about me?” she gives an excited gasp and sits up, then asks “ Do you have a bromance going on?”

“We talk,” Kyle admits. 

“When?”

“When you don't realize it's happening. What? You need to know everything?”

“I think it's a big deal when my husband...the black sheep of this family, through no doing of his own...is having a bromance with my favourite brother. It makes my heart happy. What's wrong with that? And what do you guys talk about?”

He shrugs. “Guy stuff.”

She stares at him pointedly.

“What? Guy stuff. You know, going to the gym, cars, trucks, work shit, girl shit.”

“Girl shit? He's talking about girls with my brother?”

“He doesn't talk about girls. I talk about girls. He talks about you.”

“Oh really...” her eyes narrow. “...and what does he say? Don't hold back. You can tell me. Don't protect him.”

“Nothing bad, I swear. He has never once said anything bad about you. The total opposite, actually. Trust me when I say that after five and a half years, that guy is still wildly and crazily in love with you.”

She smiles and sips her tea. “He's lucky.”

“It's just random guy shit we talk about. I mean, every so often we'll talk about how big of a bitch mom is and how ridiculous the shit she says is. Sometimes we talk about sports. He really hates hockey by the way but I won't hold that against him. And every so often he'll talk about shit that's bothering him.”  
“Really?” she's genuinely surprised. “He talks to you about that stuff?”

Kyle nods and sips his beer.

“What has he told you?”

“Esme, it's kind of personal, don't you think? If he's telling me and not you...”

“I'm not asking to be nosy and I don't expect you to betray his confidence. I'm asking because I'm worried about him. He's been having some really hard times, K. Mentally. And not just the depression and the anxiety. But with the PTSD and the brain fog and the memory issues. Have you noticed any of those things?”

“I've noticed a couple things, I guess. Nothing major. I just figured that whatever he'd been through had done a real number on him, you know? I mean, now that I know exactly what he went through, it's no wonder the guy has issues. That would fuck anyone up.”

“Has he told you about any issues? Anything specific?”

“Esme....”

“He's my husband. Kyle. And I'm worried about him. I don't know what to do for him. I don't know if he needs more therapy or if he needs different medication or if he needs both. I just want to help him.”

“I know. But right now, you're the one that needs help. I know you're used to being the mother hen and the one that babies everyone, but you've got your own shit going on, kid. You do not need to be stressing out over this. If you want me to, I can talk to him. See if he'll tell me anything else other than what he already has. But you can't be worried about this. Especially now. Not with your own stuff going on.”

“I fainted, K. That's it. I fainted.”

“There's way more than that going on and you know it. You need to take it easy and let people take care of you for a change. Stop trying to solve everyone's problems and just worry about yourself. That's why you're having issues in the first place. Because you stress yourself trying to fix everybody. Just...stop...” he reaches out and gently squeezes the back of her neck. “...stop trying to save everyone.”

“That is not what I'm trying to do. I'm worried about him, Kyle. Legitimately worried. He isn't himself and he...”

“You just said he was stressed and had a lot on his plate.”

“It goes way beyond that.”

“Is he drinking again? Back on the Oxy?”

“He was drinking but he says he's sober and staying sober. And no. He's not on Oxy again. He doesn't even like taking Tylenol. Which is a problem all in itself because he's in all this pain and he doesn't want to take anything for it.”

“And I said I would talk to him and see if he'll tell me anything else. Look, he's not coming home so you can take care of him. He's coming home to take care of you. Would you let him do that? You always have this need to take care of him, maybe he feels like he needs to do the same thing for you. So give him that, okay?”

“You promise you'll talk to him?”

“If you're that worried about him...”

“I am. And this isn't my usual worrying about stupid shit. This is serious. There is something going on up in his brain and I don't know how to help him. And I know he hates telling me things because he hates me worrying. So maybe he'll tell you instead.”

“I will talk to him,” Kyle promises her. “You've had a long day. Lots of time on a plane, the excitement at mom's, all the poking and prodding at the hospital. You need sleep. That baby's counting on you, kid. You're the only one that can keep him or her safe and sound in there. So go. Go inside and lie down and sleep. I'll be on the couch if you need me.” okay?”

“Where's Nik going to be?” she teases, as she pushes the blanket off of her and stands up, immediately feeling light headed and having to place a hand on her brother's shoulder to steady herself.

“I knew you should have been admitted,” he huffs. 

“I'm fine. I just got up too quickly. Relax, dad. Jesus.”

“Don't get lippy with me. Because I will fireman carry you upstairs.”

“Is that how you're going to get Nik into bed? Seduce her with your fireman abilities?” she tousles his hair, presses a kiss to his cheek.

“How do you know she's not going to seduce me?” he counters.

“If you're going to have sex, I just ask that it's not in any of my children's beds. And stay out of Ovi's apartment. Go and do it somewhere else if you have to. I don't want to be hearing the two of you bumping uglies, okay?”

“It's only fair. I've had to hear you and Tyler before.”

“That's because Tyler was trying to teach you how to do things properly,” she teases.

“You're a smart ass, you know that.”

“I do,” she says, and then disappears into the house.

***

The traffic is terrible; hampered by a steady rain and strong winds. And he sits in the passenger seat as Yaz drives, elbow on the door, hand rubbing his chin and mouth repeatedly, both legs shaking nervously. The call from home has him on edge; brain running through all worst possible case scenarios, nerves completely shot, desperately yearning for something to take the edge of. To at least calm him enough to stop fearing the worst. The assurances from Nik that there wasn't something seriously wrong hadn't worked; she'd insisted that he didn't need to return home and that things were 'under control' and he needed to just stay where he was and concentrate on the job at hand. He'd snapped on her. Telling her to shove the job up her ass and get him a way home. Sooner. Not later. That she'd set this bullshit in motion the moment she decided that ratting him out was a good idea. Had she not done that, Esme would still be in Ireland. Not half way around the goddamn world, dealing with issues with the baby all by herself.

“You need to calm down,” Yaz says. 

“You need to fuck off,” Tyler retorts.

Yaz sighs. “You won't miss the flight. The guy's waiting for you. So...”

“I fucking hate traffic.”

“Okay, I get that. But like I said, they're waiting for you...”

“I don't give a shit. I need to get home. But instead I'm stuck in this fucking bullshit,” he angrily gestures out the windshield. 

“”You heard what Nik said. Everything is fine. They didn't even admit her. If there was something wrong, she would have been admitted. “

Tyler sighs, and closes his eyes; trying his best to block out his friend's voice. The last thing he fucking needs is someone trying to tell him just where his concerns should lie and where his priorities should be. There'd been no hesitation when Nik had called; he'd already been throwing clothes and other personal belongings into one of the suitcases before she even got to the part where things 'weren't that bad'. It didn't matter how goddamn bad things were; he was going home and no one was going to stop him.

“It isn't that bad,” Yaz says. “Can you stop shaking like that? It's annoying me.”

“Just fucking drive,” he responds, and shakes his legs even harder, just to be spiteful.

“Would you just calm down? What are you so freaked out about?”

“If you tell me to calm down one more time...”

“Being this worked up isn't solving anything. I'm getting you to the airport, they're not going to take off without you, Nik said that things aren't that bad and....”

“I don't give a fuck what Nik said. I need to get home. To my wife. I don't care if things are 'that bad' or not. She shouldn't be going through this alone.”

“Isn't her brother with her?”

“What the hell does that matter? I should be with her. And I would be if I never took this goddamn job. If that fucking asshole never showed up in Colorado.”

“Well technically, he's been after you since Guatemala, so...”

“Yaz, we don't need to get fucking technical. If we really want to get into it, none of this would be happening if your sister didnt' fuck up and hire Jason Andrews' brother. Which is who hired McMann to take me out. And if I really want to be a petty asshole, I'd say we also wouldn't be in this situation if your sister hadn't have ratted me out to my wife in the first place.”

“I get you're pissed about that, but...”

“I am more than pissed. I am so far past pissed. She should have just kept her fucking mouth shut. There was no reason she had to go to Esme. What good did it do?”

“Other than get you to knock your shit off and start getting your head on straight? She did the right thing, and if you'd calm down long enough, you'd realize that.”

“Stop fucking telling me to calm down!” he snaps. “I will knock you the fuck out, Yaz, I don't care if you're driving. I am on my last shred of sanity and my last nerve is hanging on by a thread. This all could have been avoided if your sister kept her mouth shut. If she'd minded her own business, Esme would still be here. With me. And that way if things went wrong with the baby, I'd be with her. Not thousands of miles away.”

“If you hadn't have decided to take matters into your own hands and drug and kidnap someone, it wouldn't be happening either.”

“Do I need to fucking remind you that you were on my side? That you agreed McMann deserved to suffer? That you agreed to help me? And then as soon as your sister showed up, you fucking bailed on me and threw me under the bus. That was a bitch move, Yaz. You fucking coward.”

“It was getting out of control. You were getting out of control. We've been friends a long time, Tyler. Even longer than you and Nik. I'm the one that got you into the job in the first place. And believe me, every day I want to kick myself in the ass for that. Because if I'd never done that, this wouldn't all be happening. And Dhaka never would have happened.”

“A lot of good things came out of Dhaka,” Tyler says, and can't even believe the words came out of his own mouth. 

For years he's been dwelling on all of the bad things that happened in Bangladesh; Mahajan Senior screwing them over, G being killed, Gaspar betraying him, everything that took place on the Sultana Kamal Bridge, the fact that Esme had to see and hear the things she did. Even those long months in the hospital and the lingering, life altering after effects. Maybe it's the meds in his system; allowing him to think clearly and rationally instead of turning him into a zombie.

“Yeah? Like what?”

“My wife, for one. My kids. My chance at a normal life. Which I keep fucking up in the most epic ways possible.”

“It's hard. You've been doing the job for a long time. It's hard to just let it go,” Yaz reasons. “Even though you've got half a dozen reasons to walk away, you just can't. Somewhere along the long, the job stopped being something you do and you became the job.”

Tyler snorts. “Ain't that some shit.”

“You never meant for it to happen. It's not like you intentionally became that way. And it's not like you wanted to put it before your wife and your kids. You didn't even realize it was happening. It just did. No one is going to fault you for that, Tyler.”

“They don't need to. I already hate myself enough for it.”

“Esme doesn't. She's still around.”

“Until she's not one day. And I don't want that happening. I can't let that happen. You ask why I'm going home when things aren't that bad? Because that's where I fucking belong. It's where I've always belonged and I never let it happen. Home was never enough until I realized how close I was to losing it. So maybe you're not a coward, Yaz. But I am. I was a coward when I left when Austin was dying and I've been a coward for the last five and a half years.”

His head hurts. Even worse than his knee and his shoulder, for once. And he reaches into one of the pockets of his flack jacket and pulls out a bottle of prescription meds; twisting off the cap and dumping three small pills into his palm.

“Thought you took your meds today,” Yaz comments.

“You keeping tabs on me now?”

“Thought you were only supposed to take one Valium a day? What the fuck...?”

“It's ativan, dumb ass. For anxiety. I'm a little fucking anxious right now.”

“A little?”

“Don't make me hurt you, Yaz.”

He places the pills under his tongue, waiting for them to fully dissolve before reaching for a bottle of water sitting in one of the cup holders.

“Are you coming back?” Yaz asks.

“I don't know.”

“When will you know?”

“When I get home and see how bad things are. Can I get home first? Can I get to see my wife and talk to her before you start asking me these things? Fuck the job. She has to come first.”

“I get that. I do. But we're supposed to leave for New Zealand in two days.”

“So leave for New Zealand in two days. Mark and his boys will be with you. What? You need me there to hold your hand? You need me to spoon feed you and wipe your ass after you take a shit?”

Yaz smirks. “You can be a real dick.”

“If...and that's a big if right now...I come back, I'll meet up with you guys there. You don't need me there to gather up intel and find where the kids are. You just need me to get them out.”

“Exactly. We need you. You. Not some random fucking Marine that's never done shit like this before. And definitely not Mark. If anyone would fuck things right up, it's that guy. You're the one with the experience. We need you.”

“Nik can find someone else.”

“There is no one else. And you've been on this since day one. You know the history. I don't want some newbie just walking in and screwing things up. You're the only one that can do this. Properly. Don't fucking bail on me, Tyler.”

“It's what I do, Yaz. I bail on people. You don't realize that by now?”

“You didn't bail on Ovi,” he points out. “Even when you were told to.”

Tyler sighs.

“So? Are you?” Yaz presses. “Coming back?”

“I don't know,” he admits. “I honestly don't know.”


	52. Chapter 52

It's just past eight in the morning when he arrives home; Nik had had one of her 'security specialists' pick him up at the airport, and relief had surged through him the second the SUV had made the turn into the long and winding gravel driveway. The feeling is always the same when he gets back from a job. All the tension and the stress that he'd spent days...sometimes even weeks...carrying squarely on his shoulders lifting as soon as that last thousand metres came into view. The old metal mailbox at the end of the drive -no last name, just the numbers of the house that the previous owners had long ago put on it with white paint-, the towering, seemingly impenetrable wall of trees that completely blocks all view the house and property, the snow capped mountains off in the distance. 

But while he's relieved to be home, the view of all those familiar and normally welcoming things fills him with little to no sense of comfort. They'd been safe there; hidden away from the rest of the world, just a normal (to outsiders, anyway) normal family that liked their peace and their solitude, who kept to themselves and never ventured far from home. Now it's been violated. People have been there. People sent to destroy him and hurt his wife and his kids. With every photo taken and left in the mailbox, their security and their comfort had been stripped away a little at a time. And when those same people had pulled down their driveway and stepped onto their front porch, life as they'd known it was over. Every shred of safety, every ounce of peacefulness, every time the view of the mountains had been both breathtaking and comforting, is now gone.

It's home, but isn't home in the way it used be. And it never would be again.

For the first time since they'd bought the place, his return isn't greeted by the excited shrieks and squeals of his children; no little bodies bounding out the front door and tearing down the front steps, all three of them throwing themselves at him all at once, all demanding his immediate and undivided attention. No puppy with its excited, incessant bark or the way it weaves in and out of his legs when he tries to watch. No wife standing on the porch with a smile on her face and the baby on the hip. There's nothing but emptiness. Silence. And it makes the place that is usually so welcoming and comforting feel cold. Empty. Sterile. As if it belongs to someone else and he's nothing more than an unwelcome outsider.

He spends his first ten minutes outside of the SUV tending to the familiar things; body and mind moving in autopilot, so used to same domestic routine that he doesn't even think about it anymore. Just going through the motions as he checks the mail, brings the trash can and recycle boxes from the side of the road and puts them at the side of the house, makes sure that the dog's outside water and food dishes are full, even though he knows well full that even Mac had the trip to Oklahoma. And when he comes back around to the front of the house and gathers the lone bag he'd brought with him out of the driveway, he discovers Nik watching him as she stands on the front porch, one hand on her hip, the other holding the screen door open. And while he knows she's there for good reason and with the best of intentions, he still finds himself irritated by her presence. At the fact that she always seems to be where she doesn't really belong; just on the outside of his life, waiting for her chance to fully jump in.

“How was your flight?” she asks, as he climbs the front steps.

“Long. Aggravating.”

“Aggravating?”

“I was just anxious to get home, I guess,” he reaches for the edge of the screen door to pull it open further, wanting to simply step past her and get inside. But she keeps one hand on the screen and puts the other on the door frame, completely blocking his way. And he heaves a heavy sigh and fixes her with a cold, almost menacing glare. “What the fuck now, Nik? Is there where you try and jump me and take advantage of me? Because you feel you haven't totally fucked up my life yet?”

“I never....”

“You should have never told Esme about McMann. You should have stayed the fuck out of it. I would have told her myself.”

“When? A week from now? A month? A year? Two years? Whenever your conscience got too much for you to bear?”

“What does it matter when? I would have done it.”

“It would have been too late by then, Tyler. By the time you told her, the lie would have been eating at you and it would have gone on too long for her to forgive you. Instead of blaming me for this, try putting the blame where it really lies. On yourself.”

“You don't think I already am? That I don't hate myself for what's happening? For the fact my wife felt like she needed to get away from me for a while? But the fact is that she never would have felt that way and she never would have left if you hadn't stuck your nose where it didn't belong. Or was that your plan all along? Really tear shit apart so she would leave me. Would leave the door wide open for you, wouldn't it.”

“That was not my intention. It never has been.”

“Oh yeah? Because I have about two dozen text messages and emails from you suggesting a whole lot of dirty shit that definitely would have broken my marriage up. Or do you just forget about that kind of thing?”

“Nothing ever came of those.”

“Because I wouldn't let it. Just get out of my way, Nik. I'm tired, I'm sore, and I just want to see my wife.”  


“You didn't need to come home. She's fine. Her brother is here, keeping an eye on her.”

“Well I'm happy about that, but she's my wife, so...” he attempts to slip past her, and she once more blocks his way. “...Nik, I will move you. And not nicely either.”

“You should be in Ireland. You should be leaving for New Zealand in two days.”

“Well I'm not. I'm here. In Colorado. Because my wife needs me to be here.”

“And I told you she was fine. That you didn't need to run home. I told you...”

“You're a doctor now? I don't care if you think she's fine. If there's something wrong...even the smallest thing...I should be here with her. And maybe you'd understand that if you had a life outside of the job. You know, someone you actually care more about than the guns and the money.”

She frowns. “You're a real prick..”

“And you're standing in my way, so...”

She finally relents, positioning herself sideways in the doorway, motioning for him to step inside. “What good do you think it will do?” she asks, watching as he tosses a set of keys on a table in the foyer and toes off his boots. “Being here?”

“Maybe it'll make her realize that I do love her more than the job. Maybe it will make her feel better, knowing that I'm here and that I didn't just say 'fuck you and the baby' and stay thousands of miles away. And maybe, just maybe, it'll make me feel better. What the hell is it to you, anyway? This is my life. Not yours. Why don't you go back to fucking Mark and Esme's brother.”

“What the hell are you talking about? What...?”

“I'm tired, Nik. I'm sore. And all I want to do is go upstairs, see my wife and kiss her and make sure everything is okay. Why is this such a goddamn issue? This is my house, remember? And I appreciate everything you've done for both Esme and I. I really do. Getting her back home, getting me home. But just back off and let us work on our marriage, okay? For fuck sakes.”

“You are going back,” she states, as he climbs the stairs. “And I'm not asking a question when I say that.”

“It's my decision. Not yours.”

“They need you. The team needs you. Don't bail on them now. And don't bail on those kids either.”

“Why don't you just fuck off, Nik,” he suggests, his feet pounding on the stairs as he heads for the second floor.

****

She sleeps on his side of the bed; on her side with her back facing the door, cheek resting against his pillow. A second one tucked into her chest and her hand -the one with the IV placed into it- resting on top of it, an attempt to keep it slightly elevated, the tubing from kinking, and things comfortable. And he strips down to to just his boxers and his t-shirt before pulling the comforter back and settling in behind her; ignoring the pain that shoots through his bad shoulder as he's forced to lay on it, placing one hand on the top of her head and the other on her stomach. His face buried in her hair, his eyes closed. And she stirs; giving a happy little sigh and wiggling closer to him, her hand, IV and all, slipping under the blanket to rest on top of his.

“Whatever you're planning on doing,” she says. “You better make it quick. My husband's going to be home soon.”

“Yeah?” he grins. “What's he like? Nice guy? Big guy?”

“He's big and mean.”

“How mean?”

“Mean enough. He has a resting 'I'll tear you a new asshole' face.”

“Could I take him?”

“I don't know. He's really tall and has big muscles and is totally sexy.”

Grinning, he combs his fingers through her hair and presses a kiss to the back of her head.

She gives another sigh; long and content. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here.”

“I know that smart ass,” she laughs. “I mean, what are you doing home?”

“I came home for you.”

Smiling, she tips her head back to look at him, and he gives her a little wink and places a kiss on her brow. “You didn't have to come home,”she says, as she once more nestles her cheek into the pillow.

“Yeah, I did. And I didn't have to. I wanted to.”

“How long are you here for?”

“As long as you want me to be. Why? You already want to kick me out?”

“I tried that once. I hated every second of it. I was miserable without you and wanted you to come home. That was the longest six months of my life.”

“Yeah, that wasn't the greatest time of my life either.” He'd spent more of it either working or drunk of his ass. Even missing scheduled visits with the kids. “So much for staying away from each other for a while, huh? It lasted what? Thirty six hours? I guess the baby had other plans. Didn't think it was necessary. Wanted mommy and daddy together.”

“She's got a mind of her own already. She's going to be a trouble maker, you know.”

“Now you're calling it a girl.”

“It has to be girl. Causing this much problems right from the beginning.”

“You mean after five and a half years we actually agree on something? That girls cause the most issues?”

“It's true. Look at all the issues I cause you.”

“I'm not going to argue with that one,” he teases, chuckling when she elbows him in the stomach. He moves his forearm up to rest her pillow, thumb gently caressing her forehead, fingertips kneading her scalp. “What did they say at the hospital?”

“Not much, really. I'm dehydrated and my blood pressure was really high.”

“Can't say I'm surprised. About either of those.”

“They did some tests.”

“What kind of tests?”

“Blood work, mostly. Made me pee in a cup. Checked my heart. Which was perfectly fine.”

“Well that's some good news,” he says, and presses a kiss to the back of her head. “What did they say about the baby?”

“Well, they confirmed there's actually one in there. They did an ultrasound to check on things.”

“And?”

“And everything looks great, they said. Healthy and perfect. So far anyway. Everything is where it's supposed to be and there's nothing missing and nothing extra. They said the heartbeat was really strong and everything was measuring right where it's supposed to be. They didn't see any problems.”

Tyler breathes a sigh of relief. “Good.”

“I'm farther along than either of us thought though.”

“How far?”

“Just guess. Out of everything you've experienced in the last five and a half years...all the pregnancies you've got to witness...just guess....”

“I dunno. Three months?”

“More like three months and three weeks. And two days.”

He raises both his brows. “Are they sure? Because that's almost right out of the first trimester.”

“Aww...baby....look at you,” she teases. “Remembering things you read in What To Expect When You're Expecting. I remember when you'd read that when I was having Millie. It was so cute. You sitting on the beach, all tan and buff, reading that. Totally into it. Until you got to the graphic parts about child birth and couldn't take it.”

“No book could prepare me for that.” He'd missed that moment with Austin; he'd been born while Tyler was on his last tour in Iraq. So Millie had been his first experience in the delivery room. And he'd almost wanted it to be his last.

“I don't know how you can do some of the things you've had to do to people, yet you almost pass out watching your daughter being born.”

“Because I don't know those people. I don't have a connection to them. I'm married to you. I had to see you in all that pain and I had to see her being delivered. I know it's beautiful and and it's a miracle and all that. And I felt that. But it also want me to puke. And pass out. But almost four months? How is that even possible?”

“Well, you were home then, so...'

“I don't mean that. I know how that happened. I mean how does it get so far head and you don't even know.”

“I don't know. Don't ask me.”

“I have to ask you. It's your body.”

“I thought I was stressed. Or that I was just run down from taking care of four other kids. I was still kind of getting my period, so...”

“I won't even ask what 'still kind of' means.”

“...so I thought things were normal. And you were using condoms. Or so I thought.”

“I was.”

“So what happened? Did one break or...?”

“Okay, so maybe I wasn't using them all the time.”

“Really, Tyler? Really?”

“I was pulling out though.”

She laughs. “Did you learn nothing in grade nine health class? When they taught that the pulling out doesn't work? Did you sleep through that class?”

“Okay, so I accept my part of the responsibility. But almost four months and you didn't suspect anything? Not even the smallest thing that crept up and made you wonder if maybe you were?”

“I didn't have a reason to think I was. I thought you were handling things and I was still sort of having periods. I mean, I felt a bit sick but I thought I was stressed and worn out. Being married to you is very stressful sometimes, I'll have you know. And never mind having four of your spawn to worry about the same time. Not once did I think it was anything other than that.”

“Well, I guess we don't have that long to get our asses back to Australia after all. Unless you want to wait until after the baby comes.”

“No. God no. That is the last thing I want. We need to get out of here as soon as possible. Away from my evil mother. Did Nik tell you? Why we left there? Why we came back here?”

“She told me a little bit. That you got into it with your mom and things got out of control and you passed out. What the hell did she say that got you that worked up? Because you've never...ever...got that mad at me and we've gotten into some epic fights.”

“It doesn't matter what she said. Just that she said it. And she followed it up with how we're all dead to her if I stay with you. Even the kids.”

“That means you can't get rid of me at all now. You have to keep me around out of sheer spite.”

“I want to laugh at that, I really do. But you have no idea the things she said. About you. About this baby. She's evil, Tyler. Like she is legitimately evil. If you'd heard the things she said...”

“Who gives a shit what she says about me? I told you a long time ago to just ignore her. That it doesn't matter what the hell she says about me. I don't give a shit.”

“No...you don't understand...” he hears the way her voice trembles from emotion, and presses a kiss to the top of her head and softly strokes her hair. “...the things that she said about you....they were horrible and they hurt so bad. Because she knows my worst fear when it comes to you and she preyed on that. She used that to break me and it worked and it just hurts so bad.”

“It's okay,” he moves his arm from the pillow and places it across her collarbone, pulling her tightly against him and kissing her temple. “It's okay now. I'm right here. It doesn't matter what she said about me. I'm...right...here.”

“But one day you might not be.”

“That's not going to be for a long time. A really long time. Like, another forty years.”

“Oh God. I have to put up with you for that long?”

He frowns, while she manages a short laugh through her tears.

“Bad time for a joke,” she's apologetic. “I'm sorry. That was uncalled for. We both know you won't make it that long because I'll end up killing you by that time for leaving the toilet seat up one too many times.”

“Well for what it's worth, I'd rather you laugh than cry. Even if it's at my expense.”

“It was just so bad. What she said. I can't get it out of my head, Tyler. Because she damn well knows what I'm most scared of and that's why she said it. And that just makes it even worse. Not just that she wishes that on you, but she wishes that kind of suffering and grief on me. What kind of person does that? What kind of person is so cold and evil?”

“She is. And she always has been. She's been like that with you all your life, you said. Especially after your dad died. Just settle down, okay?” he places his cheek against her ear, rubbing her stomach in slow, soothing motions. “You need to settle down for you and the baby. Or you'll actually end up in the hospital this time and I know you don't want that. So just calm down. It doesn't matter what your mother said. She can say what she wants. I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere. Okay?”

She nods. “Okay.”

He tightens his hold on her, thumb moving back and forth against her collarbone, his lips against her ear, eyes closed.

“Tyler?”

“Yeah?”

“What if something is wrong? With the baby?”

“Nothing is wrong with the baby.”

“But what if there is? What if we found out there's something going on? Like some kind of issue or disability or some kind of special needs or...?”

“Well, then we deal with it.”

“You don't mean...”

“No. I don't mean that. I mean we learn about whatever it is and we make whatever changes we need to make to our lives and we adapt. It's our baby regardless, yeah? So we just take things as they come and deal with it.”

“And you'd be okay with it? If there was something wrong?”

“Why wouldn't I? It's my kid.”

“And you'd be able handle it? Because I wouldn't be able to deal with that alone. I just wouldn't. And if you couldn't handle it...”

“Baby, I'm not the same person I was back then. When I took off when Austin was sick. I'm far from being that same person.”

“I didn't mean to say to hurt your feelings. I just...”

“It's okay. I know why you said it. And if I was you, I'd ask the same thing. But I'm not going anywhere. I'm not that guy, Esme. That guy doesn't exist anymore. He stopped existing when I met you. He's gone and he's not coming back. So that's not anything you have to worry about. If something's wrong, we deal with it together. We made this baby together, we deal with whatever happens together.”

“Okay,” she sniffles. “I need you to do me a favour.”

“I don't think we're supposed to be having sex, so it you're wanting me to get you off...”  


“Is that seriously the first thing you always think of?” she laughs. 

“I can't help it. I'm a red blooded male. I'm lying in bed with my half naked wife who keeps pushing her ass back against my cock.”

“I'm doing no such thing.”

“Like hell you're not. So either keep your ass still or I'm going to sleep somewhere else.”

“Fine,” she pouts dramatically. 

“What's the favour?”

“I need you to dye my hair.”

“What?”

“I want to go back to what it was before. I don't want to keep the red. There's too much but shit associated with it. I bought some baby friendly hair dye but I can't do it myself because I have this stupid thing in my hand.”

“Why can't you ask Nik? This is a girl thing. She's a girl.”

“Because I don't want Nik to do it, I want you to do it. Please? I know it's not your usual thing, but you're always asking what you can do help me and right now, this is what I need help with. I know you're used to kicking ass and taking names, but I'd really like it if you'd do this for me. Because you love me. And you want me to look pretty again.”

“You look pretty now. I like the red.”

“But you liked my normal hair more, right?”

“Yeah, but...”

“Please? It's not that hard. You know how to read. There's instructions on the box. There's no way you can screw it up. Please, baby? I'll make it up to you. And for the record, they didn't say we can't have sex. I have to avoid stress, not orgasms. And those calm me down, so...”

“Not while they're happening you're not calm. If all the bite marks on my shoulders and my neck and the scratches on my back have anything to say about it. So until I hear a doctor say it's okay, looks like I'm going to studying alone for a while. And yes. I will dye your hair. Even if it makes me the most whipped husband on the entire planet.”

“It doesn't make you the most whipped husband on the entire planet. It makes you the most awesome husband on the planet,” she declares, and he grins and presses a kiss to her cheek. “I'm glad you're here,” she says. “You didn't have to come all this way and you know you didn't.”

“Yeah, I did. Because you needed me. And I've fucked up a lot and I've got things to make up for. I'm sorry, baby. For everything. Not just this McMann bullshit. But everything. Every shitty decision I ever made. Every promise I ever broke. All the times I took you for granted and made you think I didn't love you.”

“I've never thought that. You've never made me think that way or feel that way. That's one thing you've always been good at. Making sure I didn't feel that way.”

“I've been a shitty fucking husband. And you probably never should have taken me back when we split up for six months. But you did. And you keep putting up with my shit. For some reason.”

“I told you. When a girl gets good dick, she has to hold onto it.”

He laughs at that. “I'm being serious here.”

“So am I. It's good dick. Like insanely good. So...”

“You know, maybe it's actually been me putting up with you,” he teases.

“I think it's been both. I think we both drive each other insane sometimes. Yet neither of us ever want to walk away. At least not for good.”

“There's no other place I want to be than with you and my kids. You know that? And now...” he gently pats her stomach, kisses her temple. “...we got this little bean on the way and we've got five million reasons not to stick around here. We can go wherever we want. Raise our kids wherever we want.”

“Australia,” she says. “I just want to go back to Australia. A small town, this time. Nice and quiet. Close to the beach. You used to always take Millie to the beach and she was just a baby then. The boys would love it. They're so much like you. Especially Tyler. He wants to do everything you do. If anyone was meant to be a junior, it's that kid. He idolizes you. They all do. But especially him. You know they'd love it there. And I know you want to go back. You were happy here, but never as happy as you were there. We were both happier there. We can find a house near the beach that's perfect for us. In some nice sleepy town where no one knows us. We can just start over. Sounds good, right?”

He nods and places a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Sounds perfect.”

“You'll be the hottest dad in the school pick up line for sure.”

Tyler laughs at that. “I have to do school pick up?”

“And drop offs. That will be your thing. And you can be the one that relocates the spiders and the snakes that get into the house.”

“Baby, for you, I will relocate all the snakes and the spiders that try to make themselves at home.”

“Because you'll stay nice and calm and I'll just burn the house down. We're going to find something for you to keep busy. You're not the kind that can sit still for very long.”

“There'll be lots to do. Even with Millie and the twins in school, we'll still have the Ginger at home and....”

“The Ginger? Is that what we're calling him now?” she laughs. 

“He has red hair.”

“You have red in your hair and in your beard. You can especially see it when you're out in the sun.”

“My head isn't red. His is.”

“He's strawberry blond. Your mother was a strawberry blond. That's where he got it from.”

“I don' know, Esme....” he grins. “...I'm starting to think it wasn't a coincidence that he was conceived on the same day the cable guy came here to 'fix something'.”

“Oh my god, for the last time, it was not the cable guy. It was the UPS delivery guy. Get it right.”

“Isn't the UPS guy Mexican?”

“He's actually Filipino.”

“Which does not explain why Declan has red hair in the slightest.”

“Well, something must have went wrong. Don't worry, baby. This one is definitely yours. There were no cable outages or deliveries that day.”

“You're a fucking shit,” he laughs, and rubs his beard against the side of her neck, until she's wriggling and laughing against him. “Now that I think about it, isn't Declan an Irish name? Because I'm not Irish. And neither are you. So what's up with that? What nationality is that pizza guy that has the hots for you?”

“You're the one who picked Declan off the baby name list. You didn't like any of the other names. So that's on you. And this one is up to you, too. You said the last two were your choices.”

“Wait...wait...that is not what I said. That's not what I said at all. I got to pick one of the twins and The Ginger.”

“Yeah, you picked Tanner and gave me a hard time about Tyler. Like what? That's your name for crying out loud! And you didn't even want one of them to have your name.”

“I didn't see a reason to have a reason to have a Junior.”

“Most men want a Junior,” she reasons.

“Baby, I ain't like most men.”

“Okay, I'll give you that. But I wanted him to be named after you. It's cute. A Tyler and a Tyler Junior. Regardless of what you think. And it worked. Because he looks and acts exactly like you. Remember in the delivery room? Even that one nurse that was holding him was like 'oh my god, you look so much like your daddy'.”

He grins. “Lucky kid.”

“This one better look like me.”

“Probably look like the Filipino UPS driver.”

“Would you stop?” she giggles. “And his name is Manny.”

“Fuck, you're even on first name basis with him? Now I am starting to worry.”

“Like I'm going to choose Manny over you. What about that girl in town that works at the grocery store? That cute blond that always bats her eyelashes at you whenever she sees you. The one who told the lady waiting in line behind us that one time that you had a nice ass.”

“Oh yeah. Cheryl. The one that asked if I'd flex so she could feel my biceps.”

“Fuck Cheryl. And fuck you...” she digs her elbow into his stomach. “...for indulging the little tramp.”

“I never agreed to it. I'd never do that. She did grab my tricep once though when I was putting Declan in the seat.”

“I will fucking go there and beat the shit out of her. I don't care if I'm pregnant. I will go there and drag her out into the street and hand her ass. Who does that? And you having the damn nerve to know her first name.”

“She wears a name tag.”

“Which they wear on their chests so technically, you were looking at her boobs. So, you deserve to be studying alone for a while.”

“You know Manny's first name. I didn't know his name was Manny.”

“Tyler, you don't anyone's first name because you are not a people person. You're a scare people person. Unless they're cashiers at the grocery store who like to feel you up apparently.”

“Oh, so now you're a people person. Is that what the kids are calling it these days? Being a 'people person'.” He makes air quotes around the last two words. 

“I will kill you in your sleep. No hesitations.”

Grinning, he presses a kiss to the side of her neck. “You were definitely a people person when we met. Especially in that hotel room in Dhaka.”

“You're such a dick,” she laughs. 

“You were very...what's the word...personable...with me in Dhaka.”

“You're too much,” she declares. “Now I know why I still stay married to you. Because we can do things like this. Joke around. We don't take each other too seriously. We can say shit like this and neither of us get upset.”

“I don't know, I'm pretty pissed that you know the UPS guy's first name.”

“Let it go, baby. I promise that little bean will not come out half Filipino. He or she is definitely yours. There's no one else I'd rather get dicked down by than you.”

“That's because no one can dick you down like I can.”

She smiles. “Exactly.”

“And it's a girl. It is definitely a girl.”

“We'll see...” she singsongs. “And if it is, we should name her after your mom.”

“Adaline?”

Esme nods. “And Olivia. After Ovi. I think he'd like that. He's done so much for us. He really stepped up when it came to taking the kids and getting away. He was probably scared shitless and he's dealing with stuff from Dhaka so you know it wasn't easy for him. But he still did it. Mostly for you, because he idolizes you.”

“Yeah, I'd think he'd like that.”

“So Adaline Olivia Rake,” she concludes. “I think it sounds beautiful.”

“I think it sounds perfect,” he doesn't bother hiding the tears that threaten. He'd been just a boy when his mother had died; not even a teen. So to have that kind of homage paid to her...

“We can call her Addie. So we'd have a Millie and an Addie.”

“And a Ginger.”

“Stop calling him that!” she directs another elbow at his stomach. “What is wrong with you?”

“I can't help it that he has red hair. What do you want me to call him?”

“His name would be nice. The name YOU picked. He's going to have a complex when he's older if you call him that to his face. He's going to need therapy.”

“Well, I'll take him with me. Start him off young.”

“I'm proud of you,” she says. “For stepping up after our fight. You could have went the opposite direction. Like trashed the hotel room and got black out drunk. But you didn't. You owned your shit and got it together right now. I'm so proud of you, Tyler.”

He smiles and kisses her cheek. “I've got a long way to go, though.”

“I know,” she settles back into him once again. “And I'll help you get there.”


	53. Chapter 53

“Hey,” Kyle greets his sister, as she steps out onto the back deck. “Sleeping beauty! How you feeling?”

“I'm not sure yet,” she admits, using the hand without the IV in to rub sleep from her eyes. “I've got a hell of a headache. But I'm not nauseous for the first time in forever and the dizziness is gone.”

“Headache's probably from the concussion. That's pretty normal. Sounds like the medication he gave you for the puking and the fainting is working so far.”

“I'm getting tired of this goddamn thing already,” she complains, and nods down at the portable IV device slung over her shoulder. 

“Well start drinking and eating and keeping it all down and they'll take it out sooner rather than later.”

“Yeah, well if I could think about food without the nausea coming back, I'd eat. Maybe that'll be next. Where I can actually think about it or look at it without feeling sick,” she sinks down into the chair beside him. “What time is it?”

“Almost one in the afternoon. You must have needed the rest. You've been out since last night.”

“Jesus...” she presses the heel of her palm into one eyes, than the other. “...I feel like I could keep sleeping. I was up for a little while this morning but I drifted off again.”

“Tyler get in?”

“Yeah, around eight thirty-ish? He's still sleeping. Where's Nik?”

“Went into town to get us some lunch.”

“Oh really...” she stares at him pointedly. “...us as in you two or as in you two and her people?”

“Us as in me and her.”

“I see. So what's up? Are you two hooking up or...?”

“We're getting to know each other. We're not going to pull a 'you and Tyler'. Although I bet those five days were a lot of fun.”

“You have no idea. Five days with him was enough to make me forget anyone else that ever came before him. So you like her? You think she likes you? Come on, spill the beans. I want details.”

“There are no details to give you. We're still in the getting to know you stage. We stayed up pretty late last night.”

“Just talking or...”

“Yes, Esme. Just talking. Like I said, we aren't pulling a 'you and Tyler'. I do have to admit though, I am kind of jealous. What guy doesn't want a situation like that happening?”

“What guy doesn't want to go and rescue the kidnapped son of a drug lord from another drug lord?”

“That's obviously not what I want. I mean having a woman right there....for five days...that can't keep her hands off of him. I mean, it's gross that my sister was the woman, but that is what I call one lucky sonofabitch. Goes into there to do a job...”

“And gets a job,” she finishes with a smirk. “More than one a day, actually.”

“Okay, that I did not need to know. If you're hungry, I can text her and get her to pick you something up. Just say the word.”

“Oh, we're onto text messaging now. Kyle, you don't normally give women your cell number. Half the time you don't even get first names. You're more the fuck and duck type. You must be really into her.”

“Yeah,” his smile broadens. “I guess I am. She's something else. Totally unlike anyone else I've ever met.”

“Well she's not a blond with big boobs for one. Or a bar slut. So she would be unlike anyone you've ever met. You better make your move before this job is over. She's not going to hang around Colorado forever, you know. Because eventually all this crazy shit is going to end and she's going to back to what she normally does. And you don't want that to happen without making a move, do you?”

“I think you need to worry about your personal life.”

“What personal life? I'm married. I have four kids. I have one in the oven. I don't have a personal life. I have to live vicariously through you. And, if I'm being honest, I think Nik would be good for you. She's beautiful, she's strong, insanely intelligent. She has her own thing going on and doesn't need a man's help so she won't be clingy and suffocating. She has her own place....a beautiful place, I may add...so she won't constantly be on your doorstep and be wanting to move in. What more could you possibly want?”

“Well, she'd have to want me, so there's that.”

“What's not to want? You're my brother but even I can admit you're a super good looking guy, you work out a lot so you've got the whole big shoulders and big arms thing going on, you're funny, you're compassionate, you're strong. And you're a firefighter. What woman does not like firefighters? I can't think of a single one. You guys would be perfect for each other! You're totally unlike any guy she's been with, I can tell you that much.”

“Yeah? How do you know that?”

“Because I know a couple she's been with and I've heard stories of others. She's either been with much older businessmen or guys she's met on the job.”

“Mercenaries? What would she want with a firefighter, then?”

“What wouldn't she want with a firefighter? They're brave, they're bad ass, they're strong as fuck. That all makes for a very sexy and appealing man, if I do say so myself. Fuck mercenaries. I mean, not all of them obviously, because I married one. But he's in a league of his own and not like the others, trust me. Nik is perfect for you. And you're perfect for her. So quit being a whiny bitch baby and make your move! Get her away from Mark, before he pulls his bullshit with her too.”

“She'd probably kill Mark if he even tried with her.”

“Likely. But don't let it come to that. Make a move. Or I will do it for you. I will ask her out for you.”

His eyes narrow. “You wouldn't.”

“Oh yes, I would. Don't put it past me. I'm not above embarrassing the shit out of you. It's time to get your personal life together. Enough with the bar sluts and the random hook ups. You need a real woman! Someone who can keep you in line! Who has her shit together. Whose independent and strong and just kick ass. Do it! What the hell are you waiting for?”

“Isn't she technically here on work? Wouldn't that be unprofessional?”

“Who cares? Do you think what Tyler and I did while we were 'working' was professional? We didn't give a shit. We did it anyway. We did it a lot, actually.”

“That's a very good point. Maybe I was going to set my standards higher than yours,” he teases.

“Bruh, you have no idea what that five days was like. Do not knock it. You probably haven't had an entire year that could measure up to that five days. I'm just saying.”

“I do not need to know these things about you guys. I mean, I know you guys have sex. Obviously. You have four kids and one on the way. But I don't need to know what kind of sex you guys have.”

“You sure? Because I've got stories that will make you even you blush. You want some Tyler stories? He'd kill me for telling you them, but I have stories for you. That that man's sexual prowess is second to none and he has crazy good stamina.”

Kyle grimaces. “Okay, that's enough. I do not need to know this stuff about my sister and my brother in law. As far as I'm concerned, you've had sex four times and that's when the kids were conceived. That's all I want to think about, okay? Do not put imagines in my head. I'll never have sex again if I get imagines like that in my head. And I'd like to have sex again.”

“With Nik? Come on. It's with Nik, isn't it.”

“What's with Nik?” the woman in question asks, as she steps out onto the deck. 

“My brother's balls,” Esme chirps. “They're in your purse, aren't they.”

“Jesus Christ,” Kyle mutters, shaking his head.

“Don't be embarrassed,” Nik says. “I'm used to her. That's nothing compared to some of the things that I've heard come out of that cute little mouth. And considering what she puts into that mouth...”

“That's a penis reference in case you didn't get that, Kyle,” Esme teases.

“No I got that. And now I have an image of my sister and my brother in law in my head that I will never get out, until the day I die. And then I'll take it my grave and it will haunt me in the afterlife.”

“Kyle is very sensitive when it comes to any thought of me having sex,” Esme explains to Nik. “Even though I'm married. And I have four kids and one is currently baking. He does not like to think about how I got babies in me.”

“No, I don't it,” he grimaces. “Not at all. So if you could stop...”

“Tyler still sleeping?” Nik asks, as she sits two paper bags in the middle of the patio table and begins unpacking Styrofoam containers of take out. 

Esme nods. “He'll probably be out for a while. Jet lag sometimes hits him pretty hard. And his body's trying to get used to being back on the Valium and it takes a bit for him to adjust.”

“He still have that weird haircut?” Kyle asks, as he pushes himself up out of the chair and joins Nik at the table, standing alongside of her.

“Excuse you? Weird haircut? That's his best hair cut yet. And sexy as fuck. So you bite your tongue.”

She notices the way her brother and Nik interact; the little smiles they exchange, the way their shoulders are pressed together, how she leans into him and he briefly lays a hand on the small of her back. 

“If he's back on the Valium, do you think he'll be okay in New Zealand?” Nik inquires. “Is that enough time for him to adjust?”

“Should he even be going?” Kyle counters. “I mean, my sister just got out of the hospital.”

“I was not in the hospital,” Esme says. “I was looked at at the hospital. And Tyler and I haven't talked about this yet. About New Zealand. I think that's the first conversation about it I should have. With him.”

“It doesn't matter if you were actually in the hospital or not,” her brother argues, and hands her a plate of food. “I texted her while we were talking,” he explains, when Esme arches an eyebrow. “Try to eat, kid. That little peanut needs you to eat. Or you will get admitted and you'll be in there a while.”

“You're a pain in my ass, K,” she responds, but gives him an appreciative smile. 

“Like I was saying,” he continues. “It doesn't matter if you were in there or not. You're having issues and...”

“Fainting is not having issues. And I fainted because I was dehydrated and my blood pressure was high.”

“You have a concussion and seven stitches in your head,” he points out. “And there could be something wrong. With either you or the baby. We need to be realistic here. It's a possibility. Whether you want to admit it or not. So why take the chance? Why should he go back when he's got all these things going on at home?”

“Because he needs to,” Esme reluctantly admits, and Nik nods in agreement as she sits down beside her. “As much as I hate to admit it and my heart is breaking just thinking about him leaving and going there, it's what's best for him.”

“I don't get how that makes any sense,” Kyle says. “What's best for him is staying here. With you. Especially when you're having issues.”

“What's he going to do, K? Other than sit around here and worry about me. He can't stop what's happening. There's nothing he can actually do about it.”

“There's going to be doctors appointments, test results coming in,” Kyle points out, as he sits to Esme's left. “Shouldn't he be here for that stuff? He's going to want to be here. You can't tell me he won't want to be here.”

“He will,” she says. “But what's best for him is to go to New Zealand and get those kids.”

“I'm not understanding how that's what's best for him. Isn't this going to be dangerous?”

“Very,” Nik confirms.

“So isn't it better he doesn't go? What happens if something goes wrong. And Emse, I know you hate even thinking about it, let alone talking about it, but there's a very real possibly he could get seriously hurt. Or worse. Is that a risk you want to take? Is that a risk he'd want to take it? That something happens and he doesn't get a chance to meet this baby? I don't see him wanting to take that chance. He's not that selfish. You can't tell me he is.”

“At this point, it doesn't matter what Tyler wants,” Nik speaks up. “It's about what we know is best for him. And Esme knows what's best for him. Probably even more than he does.”

She nods. “Believe me, I don't want him to go. Selfishly, I want him to stay. I want him home. For good. But I know he needs to do this. He needs to get those kids out of there and get them somewhere safe. Because he will ever forgive himself if he doesn't. If he doesn't go, it's always going to be on his mind that he didn't go there and he didn't get them out. Their blood will be on his hands. And that will haunt him for the rest of his life and I don't...” her voice cracks with emotion. “....I don't want that for him. I don't want that on his conscience. He'd never be the same. I'm trying to get him healthy. Mentally. And not going for those kids and having that in his brain? That would break him. And I don't want that happening to him.”

“It's okay...” Nik's voice is soft, soothing, as she reaches out to rub her friend's back in comfort. “...just try and stay calm.”

“Isn't there someone else?” Kyle asks. “That can do this? Instead of someone with so much to lose?”  


“It can't be anyone else,” Esme replies. “It can't. It has to be Tyler. He's the one who accepted this job, he's the one whose been working on it, he has to be the one to go and get them. And I know it doesn't make sense to you, Kyle. You're worried about what will happen to me and the kids if he doesn't come back. And I get that. I do. Because I worry about it every time he walks out the door when he takes a job. But this isn't any job, This is the job that will break him if he doesn't get it done. You don't understand what is going on with him. What's going on in his head. But I do. I know him a lot better than you do. So I need you to back off and trust me. I'm doing what's best for him. Whether you understand why or not.”

“I'm just worried about you, kid. And him. This sounds like some serious shit he's getting himself into. He's got you and he's got his kids...”

“Kyle, please,” Esme begs. “You need to just back off. I've been living this life for five and a half years. I've been with this man through some really bad shit. That you can't even begin to imagine. And he needs to do this. You have to trust me when I say that. I know what I'm talking about. You don't live this life. With him. But I do. And this is what has to happen.”

“Okay...” he reluctantly surrenders. “...I'll cave. I'll trust you. But I still think it's a stupid fucking idea. And he probably will too.”

“You really don't know Tyler that well,” Esme gives a small laugh. “He's already thought of all the possible ways to get those kids out. About all the things that could wrong and how he can counteract them. Once he's this deep into a job, it's an obsession. Even more so with there being kids involved. It won't take much convincing to get him to go.”

Her brother sighs. “I really hope you know what you're doing, kid. Because this could go wrong. So very, very wrong. Are you prepared for that? Just in case?”

“I've been ready for the worst for five and a half years,” she admits. “You don't think we've considered everything? That we don't have things in place if someone does happen to him? He's not a stupid man. He has everything thought out. Everything planned. In case something does happen. Am I ready for the worst? To live my life without him? Of course I'm not. It's the last thing I want. But he's thought of everything, and the kids and I will be fine if it does happen.”

“But we're going to do everything we can so that doesn't happen,” Nik pipes up. “He has great people watching his back.”

“You're really not going to trust Mark with him are you?” Kyle asks. “He's the last person any of you should trust. He'd kill Tyler before he'd help him. No question about it.”

“We've got two other people,” she says. “Two Marines. He has a rapport with Nathan. And he's a good kid and he's loyal to Tyler in the very short period of time they've known each other. I'll tell Yaz to make sure that is the one that goes in to help. We need two. There's no way Tyler can get two kids and himself out of there safely. Especially if there's resistance.”

“And there will be,” Esme speaks up. “Resistance. No doubt about it. The Buckmans are not going to just let him walk in there and take those kids.”

“You think they already know he's coming?” Nik asks.

“I know they do. They just don't know when he's going to show up. But they know he's on his way. Especially after what he did at McMann's house to some of their people. “

Kyle frowns. “Who are the Buckmans”

“An organized crime family in New Zealand,” Esme replies. “Don't ask. It's a very long story. But they're vicious and they're violent and they are not going to let him take those kids peacefully. They're going to fight back. And he knows that.”

“This keeps getting worse and worse,” Kyle grumbles. “And you seriously want him to go into this?”

“I don't want him to go,” his sister responds. “But I know he has to.”

***

He feels her climb into bed beside him; eyes closed as he listens to her mutter profanities about the IV stuck in her hand and the medical contraption she's being forced to carry around with her. She settles down next to him, on her side with her head resting on his collarbone and her hand on his stomach, and he brings his hand up to gently rest on the top of her head. Careful to mind the stitches and now very prominent bump that accompanies them.

“You're in my spot,” she says.

“Actually, this is my spot. It's been my spot for four years now.”

“When you're not here it becomes my spot. I always sleep in your spot. I like sleeping in all your little grooves and your indents.”

He grins. “I can't figure out if that's endearing or super creepy.”

“Fuck you, it's endearing. It makes me feel closer to you. Especially when I can smell you on your pillow. You don't do stuff like that? When I'm not around?”

“When are you ever not around? When I'm home, you're home. So...”

“Is that a complaint? That sounds like a complaint.”

“That is definitely not a complaint,” he assures her, and presses a kiss to her forehead. “There was one time....when you were in the hospital after the twins were born...that I slept with your pillow,” he admits. 

“Yeah?”

He nods. “Things were scary and the twins weren't doing well and I had to stay here with Millie and I felt like shit about it. Made me feel better to sleep with your pillow. I don't know why...” he shrugs. “...it just did.”

“Tyler Rake, you big softie. Everyone else thinks you're so big and bad all the time and I know all the cute little shit you say and do. I should write a book.”

“No, you shouldn't. There's some things we need to keep just between us. People do not need to know those things.”

“Like how you always cry when the kids are watching The Fox and the Hound?”

“Okay, for the record, that's a very sad fucking movie. And I only cry at the part when the old lady leaves Todd in the woods.”

“You even know his name?” she teases. “Baby, you're so cute. You're not as alpha male as you and other people think you are. Don't worry, your secret is safe with me. I won't tell anyone that Disney movies make you cry.”

“It's one movie. One. And I never would have known about it if you didn't buy it for the kids and your one son....who shall remain nameless...wouldn't stop watching it for three months. And he'd come bawling to me every time that part came on and make me sit and watch it with him because it said made him feel better if I sat with him. That's not what it was. That little shit just didn't want to be alone in his misery.”

“That's it, throw Junior under the bus. I told you he's just like you. He even cries at the same things. Didn't you both cry watching Iron Giant too?”

“I did not cry. I had something in my eyes.”

“Sure you did,” she laughs, and places a kiss on the side of his neck. “Didn't you cry watching Gladiator?”

“That was a bitch move Commodus pulled on my boy Russell Crowe and you know it. And you're the one that cries at commercials so you're the last one who should be on me about sad movies. How many times have you had to ask me to change channel because those ASPCA commercials and you get all weepy over the animals? Hundreds. Thousands. Every time one comes on. And then I have to listen to you go into a sob story about your golden retriever when you were growing up.”

She rests her chin on his chest and glares up at him. “Don't you bring Max into this. He was the goodest good boy ever and my mom only got rid of him because Kyle kept bringing home bad report cards and because he was so 'stupid' as she called him, she hit him where it hurt the most and got rid of his dog. He was never the same after that.”

“So that's what's wrong with him.”

“Well there's a lot wrong with him, but that's besides the point. Why would you do that? Bring Max into things. Now look...” she sniffles, tears sparkling in her eyes, lower lip wobbling. “...you're a horrible person.”

He can't help but chuckle, and then gives an apologetic smile. “I'm sorry, baby. I didn't mean to make you cry.”

“Yes you did. I swear you enjoy it. You're a masochist.”

“Wouldn't that make a me a sadist? If I enjoy making you cry?”

“It makes you an asshole is what it makes you,” she huffs, and he bites back a laugh and moves his hand to the back of her head and pushes her face down to his chest. 

“I'm sorry. I do not like making you cry and you know it. And I'm sorry your mom got rid of your dog because your brother's a dumb ass.”

“I told she's psychotic. I told you!”

“If it wouldn't make us brother and sister, I'd say hook her up with my dad. They'd be perfect for each other. They could just make each other miserable and leave everyone else alone.”

“As much as I'd enjoy the two of them torturing each other, I do not want to be related to you. That's a level of Jerry Springer Show red neck shit I do not want to get involved with.”

“There's probably porn about that. Husband and wife who are also step brother and step sister.”

“You'd know. That's probably the weird shit you look up.”

“I do not watch porn.”

“You're a fucking liar. We've watched it together.”

A slow grin spreads across his face. “Oh yeah...I remember that...you were into it way more than I was.”

She gives a derisive snort. 

“I am sorry. That I brought the dog into things. And that your mom's a psycho. You won't have to worry about that much longer. Once we get fuck out of here. She's going to lose her shit, you know. When she finds out we're leaving.”

“She just told me that we're all dead to her. She won't give a shit.”

“Babe, tomorrow she's going to call and she's going to try and convince you that she never said those things or try and get you to believe that she didn't mean them the way you took them or that you're overreacting. It's the same bullshit every time she does something like this.”

“I'm starting to think she's the reason why Sarge is the way he is.”

“You're just starting to think that? I've been thinking that since I met her. She's messed up. And you think you have issues.”

“I do. I have one big issue. That's six foot three and two hundred and ten pounds.”

“Two twenty.”

“Is the extra ten pounds your middle aged spread?”

He scowls. “I'm not middle aged. Sixty is middle aged.”

“Tyler, no one lives to be a hundred and twenty.”

“Is that a challenge? That sounds like a challenge.”

“Look, as much as I want you to live to a ripe old age, we both know you're not making it that long. Because you know one day I'm going to snap and I will kill you long before you get there. And it's going to be a lot sooner if you don't stop leaving your dirty laundry in front of the hamper instead of putting them inside. You've been warned. About a hundred times in the past month alone. Is that really the hill you want to die on?”

“Maybe it is. Maybe it's like death by cop. Put yourself in the line of fire so someone else does the dirty work for you.”

“I can think of other more pressing things to kill you over than dirty laundry,” she says, and snuggles her face into the space between his neck and shoulder. “And I haven't killed you yet so I think it's safe to say that it's not going to happen. That as much as you drive me batshit insane, I'd rather you be here do that than not be here at all.”

He smiles at that, then presses his lips to her forehead. “You good? Feeling okay?”

“Well I did eat. Not a lot but I did get some into me and I haven't thrown it up. I think those meds are working. To stop the puking. But I have a killer headache.”

“It's the concussion. It'll go away in a couple of days. Where does it hurt?”

She reaches up to move his hand to her forehead, so his thumb sits between the edge of her eyebrow and the side of her nose. “Don't press too hard. You don't know your own strength half the time.” And she gives a long, content sigh when his thumb presses into the tender spot and begins massaging in firm, slow circles. “I've been taking care of you and kids for so long, I forgot how nice it is to have someone take care of me.”

“Well, I try. But you don't let me do it, so....”

“I could get used to this,” she gives another sigh. “You can stick around. You're useful after all.”

He grins and drops a kiss on the top of her head.

“I told Kyle,” she says.

“About?”

“You. About what you do.”

“You mean other than drive you crazy and give you awesome dick?”

She nods. “I told him about you. About what you do for a living. That it isn't private security. That you're actually a mercenary. Don't be mad. I know we agreed to not tell people.”

“We agreed to not tell people five and a half years ago. It doesn't matter who knows now. This is it. The last job. Once I'm done, I'm done. Doesn't matter if anyone knows.”

“You promise? That this is it? That a year from now you're not going to get bored and go back to it?”

“I promise. Once this is over, that guy won't exist anymore.”

“He'll never disappear entirely, Tyler. That's impossible. He'll always be a part of you. And that's not a bad thing. That guy? That Tyler? He's not a horrible person. I mean, he's the guy that I fell in love to begin with, right? That wouldn't have happened if he was a terrible person.”

“Maybe you just have shitty taste in men,” he teases, and she laughs against his neck. 

“I don't want him disappearing entirely,” she says. “Because there's parts of him that I really like. That I want to stick around. That I need to stick around.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“He's strong. Fearless. He'd do anything to protect me and the kids.”

“It doesn't need to be the old Tyler to be those things. That's just part of who I am.”

“Then hang onto that part, okay? Because I'm so lucky to have that part. We've had our issues. But there's never been a time where I didn't feel safe with you. I've always trusted that part of you. That nothing would happen to me or the kids.”

“Nothing will,” he assures her. “You're safe with me. You're all safe with me.”

“I know. And I know what you're capable of doing to people, so I feel sorry for anyone that even tries to hurt me or the kids. It'll be different. When we go back to Australia. We can find a little town to move to. Where no one knows us. Where it's quiet and peaceful and we can just start over. Where no one knows our past and we're just the new family in town. Where we can have a normal life.”

“Have you met our kids? They are far from normal. No one will ever think we're normal. Trust me.”

“Especially you with that hair cut,” she teases.

“Excuse me? This hair cut is only here because you insist I keep it this way.”

“I do love it,” she says, and reaches up to push her fingers through the longer strands. “You need to tidy it up. Shave the sides and the back. You're starting to look shaggy again.”

“I might shave my beard off though.”

“Do it and I file for divorce. That's the only warning you're getting.”

He chuckles at that.

“Your kids wouldn't even recognize you. You've always had a beard. With all of them. Millie would probably cry. She'd need therapy for sure.”

“Never mind her. You'd probably cry and need therapy.”

“Yeah,” she giggles. “That's not a lie.”

“What did he say? Kyle. When you told him about what I do?”

“Well, he initially wanted to kick your ass. Which would be hilarious to see him try, you have to admit. He's a big boy and he's tough, but he wouldn't last long against you. Maybe you can kick his ass because it's his fault my mom got rid of Max.”

“Not that again. Try to stay on track here, okay? Your ADHD is showing. It's like a dog that can't concentrate because he keeps seeing a squirrel.”

“Why do you keep comparing me to animals? First it's an angry goat and now it's a dog who loves squirrels.”

“Look, I don't have the brain pan you do. I go with what I know. You're the brains of this operation, not me. So, focus. What did your brother say?”

“After he said he wanted to kick your ass?”

He sighs. As much as he loves her and would readily and willingly die for her, sometimes having what should be a simple conversation turns into a massive test of patience. “Yes.”

“I don't think he really believed me at first. I mean, that's kind of a messed up thing to hear. That your brother in law does that sort of thing. But I told him all about Dhaka and what happened there and it helped him understand things. He's fine with it. Well, as fine with it as someone can be, I guess. I don't think he wants to kick your ass anymore.”

“He could try. But...”

“Yeah, no killing my brother, okay? He's the only brother I actually like. He's okay with it...” she rubs his stomach. “...he knows it's what you do, not who you are. And he trusts me to make the right decisions. For myself and the kids. And this is the right decision. You're the right decision. I wouldn't have stuck around this long if you weren't.”

“Well I'm glad you did. Stick around.”

She draws back and smiles at him. “Yeah?”

Tyler nods. “Even if I am an asshole that makes you cry sometimes.”

“For what's worth, you make me smile and laugh way more than you make me cry. And you make me do other things too.”

“Yeah? What other things?”

“Oh, you know...”she slides her hand over his stomach and abs and then down onto the front of his boxers.

“You need me to leave me alone,” he informs her, and grabbing a hold of her hand, moves it back up to his stomach.

“That's a first. You saying that. Normally I'm telling you to leave me alone at the most ungodly hours.”

“Yeah...well...” he frowns when her hand slips down again, once more taking hold of it. “...you need to stop...”

“No,” she says, and then her lips and her tongue on the side of his neck. 

He momentarily gives it. Grip on her hand releasing, throat tightening, feeling that familiar stirring below the waist. But then he sees that IV line in her hand. “Stop...” he pushes her away. “...you seriously need to stop and leave me alone...” he tosses the blankets off of him and reluctantly climbs out of bed.

“Where are you going?” she asks innocently. 

“To take a cold shower,” he grumbles, and then disappears into the ensuite bathroom.


	54. Chapter 54

“You know, I should really beat the shit out of you.”

Tyler glances up from his cell phone as his brother in law joins him on the front porch. He'd only woken up a half an hour before; hair still messy, sleep still clouding his vision, brain still slightly foggy. The lingering effects of jet lag and his body still getting used to being back on the meds. It's four thirty in afternoon and he feels as if he could sleep forever. And while Nik's security people patrol the perimeter of the property and the women have headed into town to grab groceries, he'd retreated to the front porch; a cup of steaming black coffee sitting on one side of him, and the roughly sketched out New Zealand plans (along with a bright yellow highlighter and a pen) on the other. For the time being he's focused on returning the many text messages that Ovi and Nathan -the young Marine- have sent him. New Zealand is still very much up in the air; he hasn't made his mind up yet one way or the other, but promised Yaz and the others that he'd at least look things over.

He smirks, then looks back down at his phone. “You can try if you want, mate. But I don't suggest it. Not if you know what's good for you.”

Tyler wouldn't go as far as calling them friends; close acquaintances, maybe. They talked on occasion; Kyle was the only member of Esme's entire family that wanted anything to do with him and had always been willing to give him a chance, even right from the get go when he'd wandered into their lives as the complete stranger who'd (in Esme's mother's words), 'stole her away from them'. Kyle had argued that his sister was a grown woman who was more than capable of making her own decisions when it came to what -and who- she wanted, and in turn that had oztracized him from most of his family. He didn't give a shit; in the same way Tyler didn't give a shit whether they liked him or not. And they'd bonded over that, along with the fact they both loved her and the kids.

But friends is stretching it. He's an immensely private person; he doesn't even like the people who are considered friends knowing his business.

“Want one?” Kyle asks, as he taps Tyler in the shoulder with the six pack of beer that dangles in his hand.

He shakes his head. “I told my wife I wouldn't drink anymore. I meant it.” He couldn't control it when he did; one would turn into two and two into half a dozen and pretty soon he was close to polishing over a case of twenty four on his own and was drunk off his ass. He'd been sober for a year and a half following Dhaka; the time in the hospital and all the rehab had him getting clean and sober. But he'd gone back on the job and the things he started both seeing and doing again had been too much to handle and booze had been a lot better than going back to the drugs. Or at least in his mind it had been.

“Things were getting out of hand?” Kyle takes a seat beside him on the top step.

“You could say that.”

“Guess it's probably best to avoid it when you're on meds anyway.”

It's a casual comment; thrown out there to see if it will get a reaction from Tyler. It doesn't. All he gives is a simple, “Guess so”, and takes a sip of his coffee. 

Kyle takes a swig of his beer, then leans forward and picks up the pieces of paper that sit on the step below them; briefly scanning them, a frown on his face.

“None of your fucking business,” Tyler says before his brother in law can even ask, and he snatches the papers from Kyle's hand and places them beside him, underneath his coffee mug and cell phone. “If you're here to bust my balls about something, I'm not in the mood.”

“She's my sister.”

“Yeah? Well she's my wife.”

“Your pregnant wife,” Kyle points out. “And you're seriously thinking about going and doing this? Whatever the hell is going down in New Zealand?”

“Like I said, not your fucking business.”

“She is my business. She's my kid sister. It doesn't matter if she's married to you or not. I still have the right to protect her. To want what's best for her.”

“And you think I don't do that? Protect her? You think I don't want what's best for her?”

“How is leaving her here to go back to work what's best for her? When you know that she's not doing well and that there could be problems with the baby? How is that what's best for Esme? Don't you think it will just stress her out even more? Worrying about you? That's definitely not what she needs. Or what this baby needs.”

“Since when did you become a goddamn expert on what your sister needs? You think just coming around here once or twice a month means you know anything about her? I've been with her for five and a half years. I think I've got a little more experience in what's best for her.”

“Which is why you took off when she was having the twins right? When she was having all those problems and you still took off.”

“I know you think it was some kind of easy decision. And that I'm a selfish asshole for making it, but I had to make a hard call when it came to taking care of my family. Your mother isn't handing us all kinds of cash like she does with all the others. She doesn't even remember when the kids' birthdays are. I actually have to work. And I had a wife and a little girl to take care of, two kids on the way, and I had to pay a mortgage, put food on the table, pay the bills. You think I wanted to leave? I had to leave. I did it because I didn't have a fucking choice. And you can go back and tell your mother that. Because I bet that's not the version she tells everyone. Her version is me just up and abandoning my pregnant wife and my little girl. And that's not how it happened. Far from it.”

“But why this job? Why this kind of thing? Why not something else? Anything else?”

“Because I'm fucking good at it, that's why.”

“Maybe it's the kind of life for a single guy. Maybe when you didn't have a wife and kids it seemed like the ideal thing to do. But why now? When you have so much to lose? Why would want to even take that chance? That you might not come back and you'll leave her with four kids? Soon it'll be fine. Why would you want that for her? For them?”

“Look, I've been doing this job a long time. Before I even met your sister. I met her because of the job. She knew who I was. What I was. And she made the decision to stick around. She said yes when I asked her to marry me. Knowing what kind of life she was getting into. And let's not pretend she's completely innocent in all of this. Do you know what she used to do? And if you say she was into a business, I will honestly punch you in the fucking face.”

“She told me. That she was into intel.”

“Do you know the kind of people that she helped bring down? The kind of people she went up against? That she lied to and played and conned? She's who would lead guys like me to the bad guys. Not just bad guys. Horrible guys. Guys that hurt innocent people. Women and children, even. If it wasn't for her, guys like me wouldn't even have a body count or a payout. So let's not pretend that she wasn't in this life too.”

“But she gave it up. After what happened to you in Bangladesh.”

“She didn't have to. She did that willingly. Your sister doesn't do anything that's not her idea, trust me.”

“To stay there and take care of you,” Kyle points out.

“And she didn't have to do that either. But she did. And I'm glad she did. Because if she hadn't, we wouldn't have Millie. Or the boys. Or the baby we're having now. Where the fuck are you going with all this? How is this any of your business to begin with?”

“She's my sister.”

“I don't fucking care. She's my wife. I think that takes precedence, don't you. Look, I know you love her and I know you want to protect her. And you're a good brother and you're a great uncle. But don't stick your nose in my business. Our business. I don't let your mother do it and I'm not letting you do it. No matter how much I like you.”

“I'm just worried about her. And the baby.”

“And I'm not? I didn't just come back all the way from Ireland to make sure they're okay? Fuck off, Kyle. I'm not in the mood for this shit. I'm tired, I'm sore, I've got a lot of shit on my plate. I appreciate that you're here for her and I don't care if you stick around, just stay out of our business.”

“So are you?”

“Am I what? Tired of your twenty fucking questions? Yeah, I am, actually.”

His cell phone vibrates next to him; another text from Ovi. And he picks it up to read and return it, hoping his brother in law will take the hint that this conversation is officially over. He'd told Ovi that he needed to stall for a couple days; not to return to Colorado until he knew for sure if he was going back to New Zealand or not. He didn't want the kids coming home, discovering that he was there, and then having their hearts broken when he left again.”

“Are you going to New Zealand?” Kyle presses.

“I don't know. I haven't made up my mind yet.”

“You really think you should?”

“What I think is that you need to mind your own business. This has nothing to do with you. It's a decision I'm going to make, with my wife. So drop it, yeah? Worry more about yourself and less about me.”

“I'm worried about my sister.”

Tyler sighs. “And so am I, mate. Which is why I came home and which is why I'm going to talk about this with her. Not you. Her.”

“Just tell me who you do this. I'm not talking about New Zealand. I'm talking about this in general. This kind of job.”

“Like I said, I'm good at it. What more do you need to know?”

“How'd you even get into this? Why not just stay in the military and...”

“We're not close enough for me to get into all the depressing and fucked up reasons why I started doing what I do. Or how I ended up as messed up as I am. I got into the job, I stayed in it, end of story.”

“And my sister just willingly stayed. Even knowing what you do. That you kill people.”

“I didn't hold a gun to her, did I? So yeah. She's willingly stayed. And when this is over...this job...I'm done. For good. And she knows that. She told me I had to choose and that's actually what I did. I chose her. And my kids. Now is there anything else you want to ask me or are you done pissing me off now?”

“Just tell me one thing...”

Tyler smirks. “That was actually a rhetorical question, mate.”

“If you love her as much as you claim you do, why get her involved in this in the first place? Why didn't you just cut her loose? When you woke up in the hospital and found out that she'd given up everything for you, why didn't you just tell her to go back home? To leave you alone? Why'd you let her stay?”

“What kind of fucking question is that? Because I was in love her, that's why. And I didn't want her to leave.”

“Do you realize how selfish that is? You know how screwed up this life would be for her. How hard it would be. How dangerous it would be. Why would you want that for her? I get that you guys found out she was having Millie. But that should have been an even bigger reason to let her go. Bring her and a baby into all of this?”

“You know what, you're overstepping big time here. Your sister had the choice. She could have left. She didn't go.”

“How hard did you try to convince her? Because something tells me if wasn't hard enough or she would have been on the next flight home. Why would you do that to her? Let her stay. Knowing what her life would be like?”

“Your sister and I have had a good life. We've had our issues. I'm not denying that. But our life together has been pretty good. It's been fucking amazing at times. So you need to back off and leave us alone. Let us be married, let us raise our kids together, grow old together. What does it matter what happened five and a half years ago? She chose to stay. End of story.”

“And you chose to let her life like this. The constant stress, the worry, the fear. And for what? Because you love her? If you loved her, you never would have wanted to get her involved in all of this. You wouldn't have let her. It's fucking selfish and you know it.”

“We're done here.” Tyler says, and gathering up the empty mug and stack of papers, stands up, knee cracking noisisly. “I don't owe you an explanation. I love your sister. More than I ever thought it was possible to love someone. And if that makes me a selfish fuck, then I guess that's what I have to live with.. But don't come to my house and start this shit. You've got the wrong guy to pull this crap with. Why don't you go back to worrying about what Nik is up to. Go and jerk off some more while thinking about her. Whatever will keep you out of my business.”

“You know,” Kyle calls after him. “You can be a real dick.”

Tyler doesn't respond; the screen door slamming shut behind him.

****

They sit on the front porch swing; sun long set, a gentle breeze rustling the tree tops. She lays on her back, covered in an old tattered plaid blanket, head in his lap, his hand a familiar yet still welcome weight as it rests on her stomach, his one foot moving the seat back and forth. It's nice to have this; something normal and familiar. Even when everything around them seems anything but.

“The nurse said if I'm still keeping everything down tomorrow, I can get this stupid thing taken out,” Esme comments, her nose crinkled in disgust as she holds up the hand with IV in it. “Fuck this thing.”

“You're supposed to keep it flat,” Tyler scolds, and lifts his hand from her stomach long enough to take hold of her wrist and bring her hand down onto her body. “So air doesn't get into it and the line doesn't get fucked up.”

“Well if the line gets fucked, they'll just have to take it out sooner. Or maybe you can. You pulled your own at least a half a dozen times when you were in the hospital. So technically, you'd be able to take mine out, right?”

“That's a no,” he says, and lays his hand on her forearm, opting not to put the pressure and weight on the IV site. “It's there for a reason,” he reminds her. 

“I haven't puked all day,” she points out.

“And that's good and I'm proud of you, but it has to stay. Until at least tomorrow when we go and see the doctor. It's his decision. Not mine. And definitely not yours.”

“While we're there we can ask him to clarify the sex thing. I'm sure he would have told me if I couldn't.”

“He said to avoid things that get your blood pressure up. I'm pretty sure that means sex is a no.”

“I'm surprised you're so agreeable. Knowing how intense your sex drive is.”

“It's better to be safe than sorry, yeah? Now shut up about sex.”

She laughs. “Nice poker face. It's bothering you more than you're letting on. You're good. You seem so clam and neutral about things. Inside you're dying, aren't you?”

“Maybe just a little.”

She stares at him pointedly.

“Okay, maybe a lot. We're not used to having to take things easy. We didn't even take things that easy after the kids were born. So yeah, I'm feeling it. Can you blame me? My wife is the most beautiful, insanely sexy woman on the planet.”

“Baby, you're so biased.”

“Maybe,” he grins. “But it doesn't make it less true.”

She smiles, and he leans down to kiss her softly. 

“For what it's worth,” she says. “I'm dying too. Because my hormones are just going crazy and I am so horny for you right now.”

“Just now?” 

“All the time,” she giggles. “And it's like that when I'm not pregnant. And now it's ten times as bad. And you talk about having to take cold showers. I should go just go and sit in the freezer to save water.'

He chuckles at that, then kisses her once more. Longer this time, but no less soft and tender, his eyes on hers as lays his free hand on the top of her head, thumb repeatedly brushing against her forehead.

“Don't look at me like that,” she pouts dramatically.

“Like what?”

“Like that. With your stupid blue eyes and your stupid crazy handsome face and your stupid hair falling in your eyes,” she reaches up to push the longer strands off his forehead. 

Tyler grins. “I'm not allowed to look at you now?”

“Not like that.”

“I'm not looking at you any different than I do all the time.”

“Oh yes you are. You just can't tell. But I can. There are really dirty things going through your mind right now.”

“Maybe.”

“You can't hide these things from me. I know you so well. I don't know why you underestimate that all the time. I've spent five and a half years with you. I know all your different looks. All your expressions. All your body language. You so want me right now.”

“In all fairness, I want you all the time.”

“But right now, it's extra bad isn't it. Admit it. Don't be shy. You want to fuck me so bad right now.”

He nods. “There's some really, really dirty shit I want to do to you right now.”

“And who says romance is dead?” she quips, and he kisses her even longer this time; the brief glide of tongue against tongue, their heart rates increasing, breath quickening. “I'm pretty sure it's okay,” she insists. “They would have said something at the hospital today.”

“And I'm pretty sure we can wait until we talk to the doctor tomorrow.”

She frowns. “You suck, Tyler. You're the worst.”

“It's just better to wait, okay? To know for sure. Humour me. Please.”

“I like this side of you. The dotting husband side. It's a very attractive look on you. Maybe I'll let you baby me and take care of me from now on.”

“I thought you hated when I did that shit. You've always complained about it before.”

“I promise I will never complain about it again. Because it makes me feel like a Queen and it's sexy as fuck on you. Not that you need to be any more sexier than you already are. What a terrible burden you have to bear. Looking like you do. I don't know how you do it every day. How can you stand looking at yourself in the mirror? I look like a troll and you look like that. Life is so unfair.”

“You do not look like a troll. Not anywhere close to it. You know I think you're beautiful. I always have. I always will.”

She smiles. “There you go being a softie again. You're just on a roll today. You're in fine form. What's gotten into you?”

“Nothing. What? I'm not allowed to be this way with my wife? You're the only one I can be this way with. Everyone else expects something different.”

“Doesn't mean you have to give it to them, You don't always have to be the assertive, confident, tough guy you know. You can be human.”

“I'll save being human for you. You won't get on my ass about it.”

“If people don't like you the way you are...the real way you are...well fuck them. I happen to love all sides of you.”

“And you're the only one that matters, so...” he pecks her lips. “....let it go.”

“You're so difficult,” she sighs, and reaching for his hand, she laces their fingers together and brings them down to rest on her stomach once more. “I need you to do something for me.”

“Okay....”

“And I don't want you to freak out. Promise me you won't freak out.”

“Why would I freak out? Is there where you tell me that Manny the UPS guy might be the father?”

She smirks.

“What is it? What do you need me to do.”

“I need you to be gone before the kids get back.”

He looks down at her, eyes narrowed.

“Don't look at me like that,” she pleads. “I don't mean it in the way you think I do. I just don't want them coming home and seeing you here and being excited about it and then you leave them the next day. That's not fair to them. They miss you so much and it kills them when you're away. I think it's just better that they don't know you were here.”

“Baby, I already told Ovi not to bring them back yet. Until I told him if I was leaving or not. I'm one step ahead of you.”

“That's the last time I will ever underestimate you. You're getting quick in your old age.”

“And who says I'm leaving anyway?”

“You just said you talked to Ovi and told him not to bring the kids back.”

“No, I told him to hold him to hold off for a couple of days until I told him one way or the other. Not that I was for sure leaving.”

“You're leaving.”

“Says who?” 

“Me.” 

Tyler chuckles. “And it's up to you because...”

“Because I know what will happen if you don't go. You will have it on your mind for the rest of your life. You'll constantly wonder what happened to those kids. If they were ever found. If they're still alive. I know you, Tyler. I know that will stay with you.”

“I'm sure I'll find out one way or another what happened to them.”

“That won't make things any better. Say they never get out of there and they die. You will blame yourself. You will always believe that they died because you weren't there to get them out. You will have that on your conscience for the rest of your life, and I do not want that for you. You're supposed to be retiring. It won't be much of a retirement if you can't rest. And you won't rest if you don't do this.”

“It doesn't need to be me, Esme. That goes in.”

“Yes. It does. And you know it does. And I know you've been thinking about those kids since you go home. I know they've been on your mind. I'm not faulting you for that. I know how your brain works. You gave your word that you'd get them out and it doesn't matter how big of a bastard McMann turned out to be. You promised you'd get those kids and it's been on your mind ever since you made that promise. You need to be there and you know it.”

“I need to be here,” he insists. “ With you.”

“No, you don't. Things are fine. I'm okay. The baby's okay. And the doctor is going to tell you the same thing tomorrow. Nik is here, my brother is here. You don't need to be here.”

“Bullshit. I'm your husband. That's my kid in there.”

“And we're both fine,” she insists. “And it's amazing you came and I love you so much for it. Because before you probably never would have done it. You would have been fine with people being here with me. Like when I was pregnant with the twins. So I think it's incredible that you came all this way. But you need to go. Not just for those kids. But for yourself.”

Sighing heavily, he closes his eyes and leans his head back against the brick behind him.

“You know I'm right,” she says. “And I know you think it makes you a shitty husband for wanting to go. But it doesn't. You think it means that you're abandoning me. But you're really abandoning those kids. Because you're their only hope. You want go, right? You can admit it. I'm not going to be mad. I'm not going to think less of you. You want to go New Zealand, don't you.”

He nods. 

“Then go. I'm not going to stop you. I'm telling you to do it. I'm telling you I want you to do it. Because I don't want you staying and then spending the rest of your life blaming yourself for what happens to them. You have enough going on up in your head; enough to deal with. You don't need that too. I don't want that for you. That kind of torment. You've been through enough without putting yourself through that.”

“And if I don't make it back?” he asks. “Then what? Then you'll be on your own with four kids. Soon five. And then what? If we're going to talk about this, we might as talk about all of it. Say I go back and something happens, what then?”

“Well, I deal with it, I guess. I don't know what you want me to say. I don't even like thinking about that; something happening to you.”

“You said it yourself, these people are dangerous. More dangerous than I've ever gone up against it. So there's a chance I'm never coming back from this. You realize that, right?”

She nods, tears welling in her eyes. “I've known for five and a half years that it could happen. Every time you walk out the door. And it almost happened in Dhaka.”

“This going to be worse than Dhaka. Way worse.”

“And you'll be fine. You'll go in there and you'll get those kids and you'll get the hell out and you'll come home.”

“Esme, you need to prepare yourself. For the worst case scenario. And it fucking kills me inside to even talk about it. But I need you to think about it. I need you be ready for it.”

“How can I be ready for something like that? There's no way to be ready for something like that.”

“You know where everything is, right? All the paperwork? Everything you would need to take to a lawyer. You know where that all is, right?”

Nodding, she wipes at the tears that trickle down her cheeks.

“If something happens and I don't come back, you take the money and you take the kids and you go. You don't stay here. Because chances are, those people won't stop. So you take the money and get the fuck out of here and you don't look back. Promise me. That you'll do that.”

“I promise.”

“And you do whatever you have to do to change your name. To change their names. You have to do that. There can't be anything left of me. No trace. It has to be like I never existed. You understand that, right?”

She nods.

“Nik will help you. She can help with all that. She's had to do it for other people.”

“I don't want to talk about this,” she sobs. “Please stop. I don't want to hear this.”

“You'll be fine. You and the kids will be fine. You're strong. The strongest person I've ever met. And you'll go on with your life and you'll be fine. I promise.”

“Stop, Tyler,” she begs. “Please just stop. I don't want to hear this.”

“You have to. You have to hear it and you have to listen to me.”

She shakes her head. “You're going to be fine. You're going to get those kids and you're going to come home. There's no other choice. You have to come home.”

“I'm going to try my best. You know that.”

“That's not what I need to hear. I need to hear you say you're coming back.”

“I can't, baby. I can't promise you that. Because that's not a promise I'm sure I can keep. But you'll be fine. You and the kids will be okay. That I can promise you.”

He leans down to kiss her. Tasting the salt of her tears on her lips.

“So you're going then?” she asks. “You're going to New Zealand?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “I'm going.”


	55. Chapter 55

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: MENTIONS OF PTSD. SMUT.

“Do you smell that?” his voice is a near whisper, corners of his eyes and the bridge of his nose wrinkled in obvious disgust, leaning sideways in his chair, getting as close as possible as he can get to her without practically sitting on her lap. 

It's nine in the morning and they're already at the hospital, the waiting room of the radiology department near standing room only; a mixture of both in and outpatients waiting for x rays and ultrasounds. 

Esme looks up from the intake form attached to a clipboard in her lap. “All I smell is hand sanitizer and whatever they use to clean the floors with.”

“Are you sure that's all you smell? That's it?”

She nods. “Why? What do you smell?”

“It smells like death.”

It's the PTSD. She's dealt with many a triggering episode in the past five and a half years. Anything out in public can cause an immediate and extremely negative reaction; as simple as someone slamming a vehicle door too hard or even a car backfiring. Fireworks are a nightmare; the Fourth of July an extremely stressful time for him, made even worse by wanting to do things with -and for- the kids for the holiday. She often wonders how he manages when he's on the job; rifles and handguns being the weapons of choice after all. But he'd once explained that when he was 'in the zone', he didn't really hear anything. He'd become so accustomed to using weapons that he could block the sound completely out. 

Hospitals have always been a hit or miss. Some appointments go smooth and without any triggering moments. Where he's completely calm and relaxed and nothing bothers him. Others are a disaster right from the get go. Everything from the lights being too bright, to too many people in scrubs, to the beeping of various monitors. Today is somewhere in between bad and mediocre; a slight panic attack the moment they'd pulled into the underground parking lot, having to take the stairs (alone) because he couldn't stand the thought of being enclosed in an elevator, and now the smell.

She doesn't say anything in response; when he's this agitated, the less talk, the better. Instead she offers a reassuring smile, lays a hand on in back between his shoulders, and then returns to filling out the form in her lap. Sometimes simple touch is enough; that light pressuring helping ease the tension and calm the nerves. Today he's wound extremely tight. Hands clasped tightly together and resting on his stomach, right thigh violently moving back and forth.

“I hate hospitals,” he says, and she can hear the slight panic in his voice. This is huge for him; having to fight his own fears and his own demons while trying to help her. It breaks her heart; that this big, strong, seemingly fearless man has to battle with such a powerful, invisible force. Even when it comes to trying to support his own wife during what should be an exciting, happy time. But there's pride as well; that he's so determined to be by her side and he's handling his own discomfort and suffering so well. 

She places the clipboard on the small table beside her, then grabs her bag from it rests on the floor between her feet; rummaging through it until she finds a bottle of prescription meds. Proceeding to twist off the lid, dump three small pills into her palm, and then offer them to her husband. No words are needed. He doesn't need them. And he gives a small smile of appreciation, presses a small kiss to her forehead and then takes the meds from her, placing them under his tongue and waiting for them to dissolve. She hates this for him; the struggle he has with his mind. And she notices the way the young couple sitting across the way keeps watching them. Maybe it's his sheer size; , long and leggy, the broad shoulders and the muscular chest and the powerful arms. Maybe it's even the mixture of the tattoos and the various scars that are in such visible places. But she guesses it's his behaviour; the shaking of the leg, the eyes that never stop surveying everything and anything around them, his tightly clasped hands. She glares at the pair sitting across from her; that one simple, dark look letting them know that under no circumstances will she hesitate in calling them out on their bullshit. And her hand moves from between his shoulders to the back of his neck; fingernails lightly scraping just under the band of his baseball cap. 

It only takes a few seconds to work; the shaking of the leg stopping and his hands slightly relaxing. When they'd first sat down, it had been the repetitive actions of removing his hat, running his hand through his hair, putting his hat back on. Several minutes of the same until she'd had to redirect him by getting him to go into the hall and get her a bottle of water from a vending machine. The OCD tendencies are extremely rare and don't flare up often, but when they do, the only thing that is successful in getting him to stop whatever he's doing is to give him something else to concentrate on. Once that happened, he never went back to the other. Now he's moved on to fidgeting with his wedding ring; repeatedly pulling it up to the knuckle and then pushing it back down, sometimes just rubbing the pad of his thumb against the smooth metal. It's relatively harmless, until he manages to rub the skin underneath completely raw.

“Do you want to take this up for me?” she asks, as she holds out the clipboard.

It gives him something to do; a simple task that will take his mind off whatever thoughts are plaguing him. It's a temporary fix , but it gives him some relief at least. And she watches him as he heads off, noticing the attention he seems to attract everywhere they go. He exudes confidence; sure in his ability to handle any and all situations that come his way. And it's that confidence that draws peoples interest; a man of few words that can express more in his body language and facial expressions than in an entire sentence. And of course, the ladies like him; young and old. What's not to like? The face, the blue eyes, the insane body. 

It's only thirty feet, but when he returns he's calmer; whether it's from the redirection of the medication kicking in, or even both. But he's stopped fidgeting and his eyes aren't darting around with the same intensity they were before, and there's no longer sweat linger at his temples or the band of his baseball cap. And he when sits, he just stretches his legs out instead of shaking them, and he drapes an arm across her shoulders, hand resting on her upper arm. A different person, just like that. Which in turn helps her to relax, and she leans into him, head resting back on his shoulder, hand on his thigh.

“I have to pee,” she announces. “So bad.”

“You can't. That's the rules.”

“Screw the rules. I feel like I'm going to explode. It hurts.”

“Well go and let a little bit out,” he suggests.

“Have you ever tried to pee just a little bit? It doesn't work that way. I hope it's not too much longer. Because I don't know how long I can sit here having to go this bad. Do you still smell it? What you were smelling earlier?”

He shakes his head. “It's gone now.”

There was nothing ever there of course, although he doesn't realize that. He associates the normal smells of a hospital with death. Not surprising, considering how close to death he'd actually come and how long he'd had to stay cooped up with various wires and tubes attached to nearly every available spot on his body. 

“Remember the first ultrasound we had for the twins?” she asks. “When we found out there was two? You looked like you were going to faint.”

“I went in there expecting one. So when they tell you there's two of everything...”

“You were probably just worried it was two girls.”

“That's not a lie. That is exactly what I thought at first. How the hell am I going to deal with two more girls? I didn't want to be that outnumbered. I was already getting bossed around and there was just you and Millie was still tiny.”

“A tiny dictator,” Esme concludes. “That's because you'd pick her up every time she made even the smallest noise. You wouldn't leave her alone. Now she's five and you're totally wrapped around her little finger. You complain about being a whipped husband? Oh no. She's the one that has you completely whipped.”

“She hasn't gotten me to wear the tiara yet. She hasn't broken me completely.”

“Give it time,” she laughs, and rubs his thigh. “She's only five. There's tons of time left.”

Her cell phone...in the bag once again on the floor between her feet...begins to ring and he leans down to grab it for her; helping keep any unnecessary pressure off of her already full and extremely nervous bladder. There's no secrets between them; able to go in and out of each other's belongings without question or permission, and he pulls out her phone and checks the call display. Immediately frowning.

“Your mother.”

Esme groans. “That's the fifth time since we left the house.”  


“Want me to text her and tell her to fuck off?”

“Next time answer. That'll scare the shit out of her and she'll probably hang up.”

“Or she'll lose her shit on me. I'm kind of hoping she does. That way I can just snap. You'll let me, right? Snap? Just this once? Normally you don't let me flip my shit on her. And I really want to.”

“It's been five and a half years in the making. She has it coming. How cute are you?” she reaches up to rub her palm against his cheek, the bristles of his beard tickling her skin. “Wanting to defend my honour.”

“It's her goddamn fault we're even here right now. What is something worse had happened? Not just stitches and a concussion. What if you'd lost the baby because of her bullshit.”

“Tyler, let's not even think about things like that, okay?”

The leg starts to shake again, and she moves her hand over to to it. 

“Don't dwell on what didn't happen,” she says. She knows him far too well; how his mind works when the PTSD kicks in. Obsessing over things that either never happened, or he fears will. “Everything is fine and we're just here for a more in depth ultrasound. Not because there's a problem. Hey...” she squeezes his knee. “....calm down just a bit, okay?”

“I hate hospitals.”

“I know. But you're doing fine. You're doing fine and I'm proud of you.”

That finally brings a smile to his face, and he lays his hand over top of hers, gripping it tightly.

“You can go wait in the hall,” she suggests.

“The hall is still the hospital.”

“Just calm down. Just take a breath. You're doing fine, Tyler. I know how hard this is for you. Being here. And I love you for doing this. For going so far out of your comfort zone.”

“I wasn't going to let you come alone. Not like you made the kid on your own. I just...” he sighs heavily. “...I just fucking hate hospitals.”

“It's okay,” she assures him, and tightens her hold on his hand. “You're fine. You're fine and you're doing amazing.”

Even the biggest and toughest need validation and reassurance.

****

The ultrasound had showed no abnormalities; everything developing properly, heart strong and healthy, growth right on track. It's a huge relief; the news putting all of their fears and worries to rest. The doctor's appointment had been slightly disappointing. The IV could come out, but weekly tests would monitor her keytone levels and the IV would be put back on (for much longer this time, maybe even through the rest of the pregnancy). The numbers had been shockingly bad when she'd been brought into the ER and easily could have escalated to kidney damage or failure. She'd been given an order to eat more now that the Zofran was in her system and working; a ten pound weight less at this stage of the game being completely unacceptable, according to the doctor. She needed to hydrate, eat, get proper sleep, and stress less. Sex however, was allowed. Just nothing too vigorous or rough.

“Well there goes all the things we like,” Esme had quipped, getting a laugh from the doctor but a glare from Tyler.

The house is empty when they get back, and they take full advantage of it. Eager and needy hands yanking at -and removing- clothes before the bedroom door even closes behind them. There's a desperation to the way they touch, the way they kiss; hungry and intense, yet possessing a a sense of urgency. He leaves in eight hours for New Zealand, and the realization that this moment together may in fact be their last hangs heavily in the air. His kisses are deep and aggressive, yet his hands are soft as they explore her body; those callouses rough against her skin as they move along it, his weight holding her against the back of the door. Her hands are in his hair; tugging, twisted; his mouth on her neck as his fingers move along the inside of her thigh, slow and deliberate,making her shudder against him. His touch is methodical, as if committing every inch of her body to memory, and she gives a mewl of disappointment when he suddenly removes his hand from behind her legs. Kissing her as he takes her face between his palms, using his size and strength advantage to push her across the room, until the backs of her legs collide with the edge of the bed and she topples backwards with a giggle.

She bites her lip as she watches him peel his t-shirt up and over his head. Even all these years and the extra pounds and muscle later, she is still turned on by the sight of him; the sheer power behind those solid muscles, the tattoos, the scars. All the the things that mix together to make him an incredibly beautiful man. The one who had both made her forget about anyone that ever came before, and ruined anyone that may -for some inexplicable reason- come after him. 

“Baby...” she sighs in contentment. “...you are so sexy.”

Tyler just grins in response; big hands reaching for her hips, fingers hooking in the waist band of her simple cotton panties and then yanking them down and over her ass, fingertips gliding along her legs as she pulls them down and then tosses them onto the floor alongside his t-shirt. Her eyes fluttering shut as his mouth and his hands begin their slow ascent of her body, beginning at the side of her left ankle and then travelling upwards, lips and tongue teasing the inside of her leg as his fingertips drift along the back. Moving with such intent and purpose that she can barely stand it; anticipation building to an almost unbearable level. And when he reaches that juncture between her hip and thing, she's once more grabbing at his hair and his shoulders, desperate for more. To feel his mouth where she's hot and wet and ready for him. 

He decides not to prolong the torture. Placing a forearm across her stomach and holding her in place; eyes riveted on hers as he drags the tip of his tongue along her slit, then bringing it in direct contact with her clit. Watching as he eyes close once more and her breath hitches; the grip on his hair tightening. He wastes no time; he knows exactly what buttons to push. How to use his mouth and his fingers to quickly bring her to orgasm. Loving the way his name sounds as it explodes from her mouth. And he can feel her entire body violently shuddering as he places a trail of warm kisses all the way up to her lips. Letting her taste her own juices on his lips and tongue. Then he pulls back to look at her; pushing a hand through her hair, eyes searching every inch of her face. 

“You are so beautiful,” Tyler breathes. “And I love you. I'll always love you. I want you to know that.”

It's important that she does know. That she hears it in his voice and sees it in his eyes. Just in case he doesn't make it back and he never gets the chance to tell her again. Not wanting to her to left wondering just what and how he'd felt.

“I love you,” tears sparkle in her eyes. “So much. And I've never regretted a single second of the last five and a half years.”

He kisses her; long, slow, tender. Wanting to remember the feel of her mouth against his, the smooth glide of her tongue, the taste of her lips. If this is the last time...if he never does return home...this will be the last memory either of them have of each other. And when his end comes...if it comes...he will have had last this moment. Where no words were left unspoken. Where he showed her how felt. How he would always feel. And her hand comes to rest on the back of his head, pulling him tighter against her, the kiss deepening and becoming more intense as their hands work together to remove the last remaining bits of clothing. His name coming out of her mouth in a breathless moan when his lips travel across her collarbone, one of his hands once more delving between her legs, the palm gently cupping her mound before two fingers push inside of her. 

Combined with the way he sucks at the top of her left breast -effectively marking her as his- and how his thumb swipes across her clit, it's too much for her anxious and needy body to take. And she comes a second time; not as powerful as the first, but just as incredible, her entire body arching off the bed as she heaves a long, content sigh. His mouth capturing hers as again as he slides his arm between her and the mattress, effortlessly lifting as he sits back on his heels, his free hand tightly gripping her hip as he positions her in his lap, slowly lowering her down onto his cock. She cries out at the sensation; the feeling familiar, but amazing all at the same time. No man had ever filled her in the way that he does; no one else ever able to make her feel the ways that he can. He'd long ago memorized each and every inch of her; finding all those secret, magical spots that drive her crazy, learning just how and where she likes his hands and his mouth. Both hands on her hips now as they gently guide each movement, matching each thrust he makes, his lips and his tongue teasing her breasts; taking those hard nipples into his mouth, alternating between gentle and aggressive suckling. Her hands exploring the hard, powerful muscles that make up his shoulders and back before once more pushing in his hair and aggressively yanking his head up towards her; kissing him with a ferocity and intensity that she'd never displayed before. 

“Tyler...” his name comes out as a choked sob, her forehead falling against his. “...make me come....please...make me come...”

He slips a hand between them, once more finding that hard, slick nub; pressing his thumb against it and then rubbing in slow, smooth circles until she's coming apart for a third time. The scream muffled against his shoulder; her teeth digging into the skin; hard enough to break the surface and draw blood. And he once again places her on her back, still on his knees, fingers biting into her hips as he pulls her into him; filling her with several long, strong thrusts until he's coming as well. Body rigid, a low moan rumbling deep within his chest as he empties himself inside of her. Waiting until he feels that last drop leaving him before dropping his forehead towards her, placing warm, moist kisses on her quivering stomach before travelling up to her mouth. Their breathing harsh and ragged as he kisses her; slow and soft. Her hand on the side of his face when he pulls back to look at her, hating the sight of those huge, hot tears that spill down her cheeks. 

****

Afterwards he lays on his side; her back tucked into his front, a hand resting on her stomach, one leg thrown over hers, eyes closed and his face buried in her hair. Relaxed by both their lovemaking and the way her fingernails repeatedly glide over his forearm.

“Tyler?” her voice is quiet, sullen. The tears have stopped for now, but they are never far away.

He presses a kiss to the back of her head. “Yeah?”

“The selfish side of me doesn't want you to leave. It wants you to just stay here. Where you're safe. It doesn't want you to go.”

“That's not selfish, baby.” he assures her. 

“But the logical side of me knows you have to go. I mean, they're kids. What kind of person would I be if I told you stay? To just let someone else worry about them? I'd want someone to find my kids.”

“Esme, it doesn't make you a bad person because you don't want me doing the job. You're just worried. I think you'd be a horrible person if you weren't worried.”

“I'm scared,” she admits. “I'm scared you're not going to come back. And I need you to come back. I can't do this by myself. Four kids. Five, soon. That's not what I signed up for. We were supposed to do this together. I'm not supposed to be doing this alone. I don't want to this alone.”

“You will if you have to. You won't have a choice.”

“I'm not strong enough for that. You have all this faith in me. You think I'm so strong and I'm not. I'm far from strong.”

He places a kiss on her shoulder. “You're the strong person I know. And you'd be okay. I know you would. That's the one thing that almost makes it okay. That if I die, I know you and the kids will be alright.”

“”I can't do this alone. I can't. I know you want to think I can. I know you want to think I'd be okay. But I'd be far from okay if something happened to you. Five and a years is nowhere near enough.”

“We always knew this could happen. If I stayed with the job. There was always that risk. That I'd leave and I wouldn't come back.”

“But you always did come back. And now it just seems like you've just accepted that you won't. And you don't know that. You don't know what's going to happen. And you're talking like you do.”

“I'm not saying it will happen. But out of all the jobs I've ever gone on, this is probably the riskiest one yet. You even said so yourself; these people are far more dangerous than anything I've come up against. You know way more about them than I do. You've heard the stories. And I've got to go in there and get two kids out. Not just one. Two.”

“You said someone would be with you. That weren't going to go in there alone. Tell me you're not going in there by yourself.”

“I'll have someone with me.”

“Like with you, with you, or waiting somewhere for you? Because that's two entirely different things. You need to take someone in with you. Not have someone waiting outside for you. Be right inside with you. Tell me that's what you're going to do. Tyler...” she rolls over to face him. “...tell me you're not going in there by yourself.”

He gives a small, tight lipped smile.

“Are you serious right now? You said someone will be with you. And that means right beside you. Don't pull this shit with me. Not when there's only eight hours before you leave. Don't do this.”

“He's going in with me but he's not going to be right beside me. He's not going to be right on my shoulder. He'll be waiting somewhere so I can hand one of the kids off to him.”

“That's not good enough. That's nowhere near good enough.”

“Esme, I can't have someone up my ass while I'm trying to extract people. I just can't. I need to be able to go in there, do my thing, and that's that. It won't do any good if he's right there. That's only going to hinder me. I'll be worried about him fucking up and feeling like I have to babysit him.”

“I don't give a shit. I don't want you going in there alone. Not when you have two people to get out. That's too dangerous and you know it.”

“I've done hundreds of extractions,” he reminds her. “Hundreds. I know what I'm doing.”

“How many of them had two people involved?”

“None. But...”

“Then why would you even take the chance? Why would you even risk it? You need someone going in there with you.”

“What I need is for you to calm down. You heard what the doctor said. Stay calm, don't stress...”

“Easy for him to say when he's not married to you,” she huffs. “You're kind of stressful sometimes.”

“I am? See all this gray hair coming in? That's all from you. It all has your name on it. I think I aged ten years just on the car ride to the airport,” he pushes his hand through her hair. He'd dyed it earlier; returning it back to his normal chestnut colour, some of the colouring still lingering on his hands thanks to the supplied gloves being way too small. He likes it better this way; it's familiar, it's comforting. It's home. “It'll be okay. He won't be right beside me, but he'll be there. That's what matters.”

“What matters is you coming back alive. Not in a body bag.”

He presses his lips to her forehead. “Baby, I wouldn't leave you unless I had to. Unless I had no other choice. You know that, right? That the only reason I wouldn't come back is because I am dead?”

She nods.

“I'm going to do whatever I have to to get home. I promise you. Even if it means I have to leave those kids behind. If it comes down to it...if I have to make a choice...I'm choosing myself over them. No matter how selfish that sounds.”

“It's not selfish. It's smart. It's survival. But I hope you don't have to make that choice. Because I know that will be on your mind for the rest of your life and you'll constantly question whether you did the right thing. And I don't want that for you.”

“I know you don't,” he presses a chaste kiss to her lips. 

“You're a good person, Tyler. Whether you see that in yourself or not. I see it. I know who you really are. When you're away from the job. I know the things that are in your mind and in your heart, and those are beautiful places. I know you see yourself as a terrible person. But if you could just...for once...see yourself the way I see you. How I see you when you're with your kids. How much you love them. How'd you do anything for them. And how much they adore you. You're a big man with an even bigger heart. And you'll never convince me otherwise.”

He grins, “Not even in the forty, forty five years we still have left?” 

“Not even then. I'm not ready to let you go. It hasn't been nearly long enough. No matter how many times I complain that you drive me absolutely batshit insane.”

He gives a small laugh.

“But I'd rather you be here to drive me batshit insane than to not be here.

“I'm not going anywhere. Unless I don't have a choice.”

“I really do not want you to go.”

“I know.”

“But I know you have to. And I'm not going to stop you. Even if part of you wishes I would.”

Tyler smirks. “You really do know me well.”

“What? You think I've been asleep for the last five and a half years? I've been paying attention. I know what you're like and what goes through that head of yours. And you're probably the same way when it comes to me. There's things you know I'm going to say before I even say them. Or things you know I'm thinking. How many times have we finished each other's sentences? Or given each other the same look when someone has said or done something stupid?”

“A lot,” he says. “A lot of times.”

“Remember what Gaspar said? About how two broken people can't make a whole? That they can't heal each other, they can only make an even bigger mess of things?”

He nods.

“I think we proved him wrong. We're not perfect. Not by a long shot. But we're not the same people we were back then. Not even close to it. So we did heal each other. And maybe we've got a lot of scars left behind, but we look what we've managed to do together. We have a life. A normal life. We have four kids and this little peanut...” she smiles as she lays a hand on her stomach. “...did you really think five and a half years ago that any of this would be possible? If someone had have told you before you left for Dhaka, what would happen in the end, would you have believed them?”

“I would have told them they were fucking crazy.”

“Right? I would have said the same thing. I've someone had told me before I walked into that shack of yours that less than six months later you'd be my husband, I would have laughed at them.”

“Why?” he grins, and laying a hand on the small of her back, pulls her tight against him. “Was I that hideous?”

“As if you could ever be hideous. And that wasn't a slight on you. It was just how weird my life was at the time. I was so caught up in the job and travelling from place to place and never forming bonds with anyone. So if someone had said 'hey, that's your future husband and you're going to end up with four kids'...”

“Five,” he corrects. “Well, four and a bit right now.”

“...I would have thought it was the most ridiculous I ever heard. That wasn't what I had planned for my life. A husband, children. I thought that all went out in the window with Mark. I thought for sure I'd be single forever. That I'd never trust anyone again. That anyone would ever love me.”

“That was him putting shit in your head. All that bullshit he told you.”

“But then you came along and everything changed. Less than a week and half later, I was giving up everything for you. For some random Australian who lived in a shack with a chicken as a roommate. And it felt so right and so perfect. I never sacrificed anything for you. I just gave up one life for a better one.” 

“This is better? Living like this? Having to put up with my bullshit and the job? How is that better?”

“Because you love me. No matter how big of a bitch I can be or how much I nag you. Because you helped me make four beautiful children. Because of this little peanut...” she pats her stomach. “...Tyler, I don't regret meeting you. Or that things happened the way they did. Or that they happened so quick after that. And I definitely don't regret that day on the Sultana Kamal bridge. And I'd do it all again if I had to. In a heartbeat.”

The honesty in her words...in her eyes...brings tears to his own. They've had a lot of heart to hearts over the things; sharing their deepest and darkest secrets, their most painful memories, their fears and worries. But they've never had this. Where the the emotions are just laid so bare. 

“I wouldn't change a thing,” he says. “Well maybe the choking you out part. I probably went a little overboard with that."

“Are you kidding? I know you were pissed, but that was insanely hot.”

He can't help but laugh at that, and he presses a kiss to her brow and lays his forehead against her. “I don't regret it either. How things happened. In Dhaka. In that hotel room. Maybe it wasn't right, but it felt right. And I don't regret how quick things happened after that. Millie, getting married, all of that. Only thing I regret is what happened on that bridge. That you had to see the things you did. If I could change anything, that would be it. I'd change it so we just got the fuck out of there.”

“But wouldn't it change other things? I mean, if things truly are meant to happen, wouldn't changing one thing change everything else? Millie would still be there. We made her during those first five days. So she was going to be on this earth regardless. But would the twins and Declan be here? If we changed the ending and took a different path, would they ever have been here?”

“That's pretty deep, babe.”

“Say you could back and change the ending of Dhaka, but you knew it would mean that the boys would never exist. Would you do it? If we just walked away that day and you almost didn't die, but it meant we never had them. Would you still want to change it?”

“No,” Tyler admits. “Not in a million years. I wouldn't give my sons up for anything. Any of my kids. I don't care what I had to go through. I'd go through it all again if it meant they'd be here.”

“Good answer,” she says, and he can feel her smile against his throat. “But there is one thing I would change.”

“Yeah? What?”

“The sewer. If I could go back in time, I would never let you talk me into that bullshit.”

“I didn't really talk you into anything, I basically told you to get your ass in it. There was no negotiating. It was get in there or get shot. You want to get shot? Because that's how you get shot.”

“Okay, so we'd have to change the Goonies from hell part too.”

“You just said we can't change anything. That if we change one thing, it changes everything. You're not playing by the same rules, here. If we get rid of the Goonies from hell part, that gets rid of the sewer part because we would have made it safe and sound to the bridge that night. So the next day never would have happened. See where I'm going with this?”

“Damn it! You aren't just a pretty face. You're right.”

“That's twice in two days. That you admitted I was right about something. That hasn't happened once in five and a half years and now it happens twice in two days?”

“Don't get too excited. It won't happen again. You had a good run, though.”

“For what it's worth,” he rests his chin on top of her head. “ I'm sorry I made you get into the sewer.”

“You should be. That smell is never going to leave my sinuses. And for what it's worth on my end, I'm sorry I told you you were like a bear with a sore asshole that first day in Dhaka. But you were exceptionally grumpy and mean and it was driving me insane.”

“I was only mean because you couldn't listen to simple fucking instructions before we went out in public.”

“Well I didn't like your instructions and you weren't the boss of me, so...”

“I was the boss then and I'm the boss now.”

“Yeah right! Baby, I just let you think you're the boss. I don't ever actually listen to anything you say. I just nod and agree and then I do my own thing anyway. It's how we ended up with a purple and yellow guest bathroom even though you distinctly said no. And I even talked you into painting it. So who's the boss around here?”

He frowns. “You're sneaky.”

“Don't underestimate my abilities. I have ways of making you do things. You just don't realize I'm using the powers against you. Why do you think I put out so much? Because it makes you happy and agreeable and you're more willing to agree with whatever I say and whatever I want.”

“So that's how it works.

“That's exactly how it works. See? You're five and a half years in and you had no idea you weren't really the boss.”

“There are some areas where I'm still the boss. I don't give a shit what you say.”

“Yeah...like what? Name one.”

“I can show you one if you want,” he offers, as he slips a hand between them, finding the warm place between her legs, wasting no time in slipping a finger inside of her.

She squirms. “Just the one?”

“I can make it two,” he adds a second finger, chuckling when she clamps her thighs around his hand.

“I think you should make love to me again,” she suggests. 

“Yeah...” he smirks. “I think you're right.”


	56. Chapter 56

Tyler arrives in Christchurch at four in the afternoon; wasting no time in collecting his lone bag from luggage claim and then picking up the rental car Nik had arranged under an alias. After the fuck up leaving Colorado the first time, Nik had been on the ball about making sure security and privacy were locked up tight; no trace back to his real name or hometown, an extra secure encryption every he sent a text message or email, arranging to pay everything by cash instead of using a credit or debit card that could be linked back to his real identity. While it's near certain that word had gotten back to the Buckman family about who he is and that he's coming for the kids, it's essential that his exact day and time of arrival isn't discovered. It would keep them on their toes, perhaps even make them anxious enough to start making mistakes, and make it easier to get in and around the building for initial recon without being spotted. So he wears a a pair of sunglasses and a ball cap low on his brow; the hood of his sweater pulled up to cover his head. It's a cool day in New Zealand, so he won't stand out in his attire or draw any suspicion towards himself. It's the last hing he wants or needs, preferring to just show up out of nowhere and catch the Buckmans -and whoever is doing their dirty work- by surprise.

He heads to the hotel first; a modest yet spacious two room suite on the ninth floor of a fifteen story building on the busy downtown core. Nik had already arranged for Yaz to have access; everything that he'd left behind in Ireland -clothes, personal belongings, the weapons- having been brought along and dropped off. The weapons behind locked in one of the closets; a heavy metal chain wrapped around the handles and then secured with a combination lock. The code sent to his SAT.

He calls home. It's nine in the morning back in Colorado and he wakes her from a dead sleep, and he spends the first minutes apologizing profusely and the following ten making sure that she's feeling okay; checking that she's been taking her meds, eating, drinking. Once more clarifying that she knows exactly how to handle things if the worst case scenario becomes a reality. If he doesn't make it home and she's left to not only face the aftermath, but relegated to being the sole caregiver of four -soon to be five- children. And he tells her he loves her; making sure that she knows -beyond all shadow of a doubt- just how much, and how'd she'd changed his life...and him...for the better. Things he probably should have told her a long time ago. Avoiding all the hurt and the feelings of doubt and abandonment that she'd gone through during his frequent absences. 

Next he leaves the hotel and heads out into the street; grabbing coffee and something to eat before texting Yaz for his exact whereabouts. Anxious to see the suspected extraction location. Check out the locals. How busy the street and the neighbourhood itself is. How likely was it that there would be civilian casualties when the Buckmans fought back. Where could an offensive be launched from? What did the possible entrance and exit points look like and how many options for both were there? Where could the hostiles hide out or mount their attack from? Relaying on other peoples' observations and plans is useless and a waste of his time. He has to see things for himself; run through every possible scenario, make his own plans. In the end if was his show to run; he was the one with the experience, who wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty, who got down into the trenches where things were the most dangerous and unpredictable. 

Yaz has set up shop in an abandoned office building across the street from the old store owned by Heather McMann's grandmother; the twelfth floor giving an unobstructed view of not only the front and back of the little shop, but of the entire row of brownstones and the alley ways on either end of the block, and behind. And he knocks twice on the door; hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie, rocking back and forth on his heels ever so slightly as he waits for someone to answer. Listening to the muffled conversations and the push of a chair across hardwood and the shuffling of footsteps as they approach the door. Mark answers; giving him little more than a smirk and then stepping back and holding the door open for him, gesturing for him to come in.

“Holy fuck, look at this!” Yaz calls out. “The lost sheep has returned to the flock! The fucking prodigal son has returned!”

“I've only been gone for two days and you missed me that much? What are you going to do when I'm gone for good? When I stop picking up the phone when your sister calls?”

“I'm going to stalk the every loving shit out of you until you come back,” Yaz says, and then embraces him warmly. 

“I'm not coming back. I told you that. This is it Last one.”

“I give it a year. Before you're bored as hell and itching to get back out there.”

“Not gonna happen. I already told you. I'm done after this. Time to be a family man. Time to be the husband my wife deserves.”

“Good luckwith that,” Mark mutters as he steps past him. “She doesn't know a good thing when she has one.”

Tyler smirks. “I know you're not talking about yourself, because everyone in this room knows what you're like. Or do we need to talk about it again? About how you like to beat on women?”

“Easy...easy...” Yaz clamps a hand down onto his shoulder. “...don't let him get to you. He's just trying to get under your skin. How about you go over there and sit down, Mark. Quit trying to cause shit with my boy. Because you push your luck too far, he's going to rip you limb from limb. And not one of us in here are going to stop it. Are we boys?”

Both of the young Marines shake their heads.

“Good to have you back,” Nathan says, and pulls him into one of the awkward, one armed hugs that some guys seem to be into these days. “I know you wouldn't bail. Zak and I had faith. Unlike some people,” he jerks a thumb in Mark's direction. 

“Thought maybe you didn't have it in you anymore,” Mark says, as he spreads his legs out in front of him and clasps his hands behind his neck. “That you lost your nerve.”

“Man's got more nerve in his baby finger than you have your entire body,” Yaz remarks. “And he wasn't bailing on us. He had some shit to take care of back home.”

“What kind of shit?” Mark inquires.

“Shit that isn't any of your business,” Tyler replies, and follows Yaz as he motions him over to the window.

“I figured if you wanted them to know, you'd tell them,” Yaz says, voice low. “How's things? She's okay?”

“Fainted, hit her head and gave herself a handful of stitches and a concussion. Doctor says her blood pressure was high and she was severely dehydrated. To the point of kidney issues.”

“But she's going to be okay, right? Like it's nothing that could...you know...”

“Nothing that bad. They've got her on meds. That should keep things normal from here on out.”

“And the baby? Everything's okay?”

“So far. Baby looks healthy, everything is where it's supposed to be, nothing's missing. The date's a little fuckey, but....”

“Fuckey how? You weren't home that day or something?”

“Not like that. Just farther ahead than we thought. Way farther ahead. Almost four months.”

“I mean, I'm no expert, but shouldn't you have known sooner? Like aren't these things obvious before now?”

“Normally. But when has anything ever been normal with us?”

“Well congrats,” Yaz pats him on the back. “Now get neutered okay? Five of you is enough. Did you look over what I sent you?”

Tyler nods.

“What do you think?”

“I think I need to get down there and see things for myself. Old blueprints and land claims and photos mean nothing. I need to get actual eyes on the place. Anyone been coming and going out of there?”

“Lot of weird shit been happening. Mostly people going in and out of the back door.”

“Get a good look at them? Anything that can be used for facial recognition?”

“Always keep their heads down. And there's no security cameras anywhere in that alley. We've checked. Twice.”

“Do people live in the apartments above? They occupied?”

“There's twenty residential apartments and five businesses. We haven't checked with the residents.”

“Someone might have their own security camera,” Tyler suggests. “Fire escapes right? They might be wanting to keep an eye on anyone coming up and down them for safety reasons. What's the alley like back there? How wide?”

“About ten feet. If that. Get a car in there and get blocked in...”

“You're totally fucked,” Tyler concludes. 

Yaz nods. 'We've got Tanis down there right now. Doing some recon. We thought we had a sighting of Heather McMann yesterday but it never panned out. She went in the back door, never came back out.”

He frowns. “You've been watching all this time? Who's been watching the cameras when you're not here?”

“That would be me,” Mark pipes up. 

“And you never saw anyone come back out?” Tyler inquires. “Whoever this woman was. She just went in and never came back out?”

“Not on my watch.”

“Not on mine either,” Yaz says. “And you know I'm anal about watching my cameras.”

“And she went in yesterday and you never saw her again?” Tyler stares pointedly at Mark. “You're one hundred percent sure that you never saw her.”

“I have eyes. I can fucking see,” Mark snarls.

“I want to see the footage. Bring it up on the computer, Yaz. You keep that shit, right?”

His friend gives him a look that clearly means that was a ridiculous question to ask. That of course he keeps the footage and how dare you suggest otherwise.

“I just fucking told you!” Mark snaps.

“I know what you told me. And I'm telling you that I want to see the footage.”

Mark jumps up with enough force to send the chair sliding backwards and then toppling to the ground. Crossing the room in four strides, until he's toe to toe with Tyler, who only smirks in response. “You telling me I don't know how to do my job? I'm FBI you fucking half wit. We do this shit for a living.”

“I'm just saying you might have fucked up. How does she go on and not come back out? Explain that to me.”

“Maybe he fucked up,” Mark nods at Yaz. “Maybe he missed her.”

“I don't fuck up,” Yaz informs him. “Never do I fuck up.”

“I want to see the goddamn footage,” Tyler demands. “What's the problem?”

“You think you can just walk back in here like you never left?” Mark rages. “Like you run the whole show?”

“Well technically it is his job,” Zak attempts to reason. “So he is kinda running things.”

“You take off for a couple of days and think you can just walk back in and...”

“I want to see the fucking footage,” Tyler angrily interjects. “I'm not asking. I'm telling. What's the goddamn issue? Just get on the computer and show me what I want to see.”

“You're an arrogant fuck, Rake. You think you can just take off for a couple of days so you can go home and get your dick wet and...”

Frowning, Tyler steps even closer to Mark. His tone calm and even, despite the rage that begins to simmer inside of him. “What the fuck did you just say?” 

“Easy...easy...” Yaz lays a hand on his shoulder. “...no reason for this to turn into a thing...”

“It's been a 'thing' right from the beginning,” Mark says. “He's had a hard on for hating me right from the get go. Before he even met me.”

“I didn't need to meet you to know you're a fucking asshole, mate. I'd heard all about you. I'd been hoping I wouldn't meet you because I knew I'd probably kill you if I did.”

'Well I'm right here. What's stopping you? If you're as big and tough as you let on you are...”

Tyler smirks. “You're not even worth it.”

“You go home, you get laid, you come back and suddenly you're the boss? Fuck you, Rake. We've been doing all the work while you were off getting your dick sucked...”

“You need to watch your fucking mouth. Don't bring my wife into this.”

“Hey, I get it. I understand. I mean, she gives really good head, am I right?”

His forearm is across McMann's throat before anyone in the room can even react, and he forcefully pushes the other man across the room, slamming him against the back of the door. And as there's chaos and clamour as the Marines and Yaz rush over in an attempt to diffuse the situation, Tyler leans into his full body weight into Mark, further cutting off his airway.

“Don't ever talk about my wife like that. You don't bring her into your issues with me. Don't say her name. Don't even think about her. Because I will fucking kill you and I won't feel the least bit sorry about it.”

“You can't stand it can you,” Mark chokes out. “That I was with her before you. Fucking her before you were. You can't stand thinking about it, can you.”

“I don't give a shit about any of that. She had a life before me. You know what I give a shit about? All the things that you did to her. How you fucked her head up. You're a real man, Mark. Putting your hands on a woman that's half your size. Did it make you feel big and tough? When you were beating the shit out of her? I bet it made you feel like a real big man, didn't it.”

“You have no clue what went on. How she pushes and pushes and...”

“Oh I know. I know what she can be like, trust me. But you know what? I don't put my fucking hands on her. Because I'd kill myself if I ever even thought about it. I don't give a shit what she does or what she says or how big of a pain the ass she can be, you don't do shit like that. You're a coward. You beat on women because you can't take on someone your own size. Well I'm right here. You want to take a shot, just do it.”

“Yeah...that's not a good idea...” Yaz pipes up. “...not a good idea at all. So can you two comparing your dicks long enough for us to get some work done? Because I'd really like to get this job over and done with. And you two assholes are not helping.”

“Do it...” Tyler takes a step back, removing his arm from Mark's throat. “...I'm right here, fuck head. What? Suddenly you're not so tough? It's a whole different ball game when you've got someone your own size willing to take you on, isn't it.”

“Not exactly a fair fight,” Yaz says. “You've got like six inches on him and probably fifty pounds, so...”

“Not to mention you would kill him,” Nathan adds. “You know, considering the shit you've done to people with your bare hands.”

“Typical for guys like you, Rake, “ Mark scoffs. “All show and no go. All those muscles don't mean shit when you got nothing to back them up.”

“I've got plenty to back them up, mate. All you've got is that mouth of yours. Constantly fucking running it. And I won't hesitate being the guy that knocks all your teeth out. So keep fucking testing me. See how far you can push me. Go ahead.”

“No, don't,” Yaz manages to get between them. “Don't push him. This is not what we're here for. We're here for those two kids. This job has gone on long enough and I'm tired and I'm pissed and I'm irritated as fuck. So stop the pissing contest. Both of you. I get it, Mark's a huge dick and he deserves to have the shit kicked out of him for what he did to Esme. But can you at least rein all this in until after the job is done? Let's get those kids the fuck out of there and then you can drag him out into the street and finally beat the shit out of him. But for now...” he lays his hands on Tyler's shoulders and pushes him backwards. “...you need to calm the fuck down and focus. I need you to focus. You're not good to me or those kids if your heads not on straight. Right?” he lightly slaps his friend on the cheek. “Right?”

Tyler nods.

“Get your shit together. I need your head in the game. And you...” he turns to glare at Mark. “...get off his jock and quit trying to cause shit with him. Because he will do some serious damage and not one of us in here has the balls to try and stop him when he gets doing. Talk a walk or something. Go and get us coffee. Food. Make yourself useful. Maybe one of you boys can go with him. Calm him the hell down. We do not need this shit!”

“I'll do it,” Zak offers, albeit reluctantly. “You wanna come with, Nate? Stretch your legs? I promise I won't push him into traffic. Unless...” he playfully bumps Tyler's shoulder with his own. “...you want me to. Blink one for yes, twice for no.”

Tyler chuckles. “It's all good, mate. You keep your hands clean. He'll get what's coming to him.”

“That a threat?” Mark asks from the doorway.

“Naw...” Tyler shakes his head. “...that's a promise.”

****

“You good?” Yaz asks, after the commotion has finally settled down and he sits at his laptop, bringing up the file containing the camera footage from the day before. 

“I'm good,” Tyler replies, and drags over a chair, turning it backwards before sitting down on it. “Fucking guy gets under my skin. I shouldn't let him, but he just doesn't stop.”

“He's like one of those sea dwelling amoebas that you can only see under a microscope yet they burrow into you and start causing all kinds of shit from the inside out.”

Tyler arches both brows.

“Remind me about it later. I'll show you. There's some cool shit about them on Youtube. Look, I know he's a pain in the ass. I've wanted to kill himself about ten times since yesterday. But he's doing this on purpose. To get a rise out of you. To get in your head. Stopping letting assholes like that take up space in your head without paying rent.”

“You been talking to my wife? Because you sound just like her.”

“Well, brilliant minds think alike. Although I question her intelligence and her sanity considering she willingly took up with you. I can't begin to imagine what she saw in you. Not even in the slightest.”

“Start using more than five pound weights in the gym and you can look like this too. Might take you forty years, but...”  


“I will have you know, my lady is happy and satisfied.”

“Lady, huh? The one from the coffee shop? Shelly? Sherry? Whatever the hell her name is? The one I saw half naked.”

“Siobhan. And I'm still pissed at you about that. Cockblocking wasn't on your resume when you applied for the job. You at least like what you saw?”

Tyler chuckles. “You want me to rate your 'lady' or whatever the fuck she is?”

“I'll go first if you want. I'll rate Esme and then...”

“Yeah, no. Don't do that. Because I will have to kill you and it would break my heart a bit because I kind of like you. So...”

“I'd put her at a ten, by the way. If that makes a difference.”

“When have you seen enough to rate my wife? Is there something you're not telling me about?”

“I've seen her in a bathing suit. Ten. Definitely a ten. You lucky fucker.”

“Well, it's a ten plus, actually. But stop talking about my wife like that, for fuck sake.”

“You should be flattered. That guys find her attractive. They like what they see but she sticks with you.”

“I am flattered. But it also pisses me off. So...”

“Your turn. What did you think? At least a ten, right? Come on. I know you're married but I also know you look. We all look. Human nature. You like what you see?”

He shrugs. “I'll give her an eight. Nine at the most.”

“Fuck you, Tyler. I gave Esme a ten.”

“Because she is a ten. What I saw was an eight at the lowest and nine at the highest. I'm not into red heads. Plus she's not, you know...top heavy...”

"I forgot. You're a boob man. Is it true that when women have kids they get bigger? The boobs?”

“We are not talking about my wife's tits. So can we get on with this?”

“Just tell me if it's true. Do they?”

“It's not the kids that make them bigger, dumb ass. It's when they're pregnant with the kids. Pick up a fucking book or look it up on the internet. Why are you asking me?”

“Because you're kind of an expert. You've been through it three times. Now four if we count the one in the oven. So it's true then? You've experienced this yourself?”

“If I give you an answer will you shut the fuck up and get to work?”

“Swear on my mother's grave.”

“Your mother is still alive,” Tyler reminds him.

“My grandmother's than. True or not? Just a one word answer. Seeing as you're so sensitive about this.”

“True. Now can we do this? While I'm still young enough to not be collecting an old age check? Fuck sake. Let's go.”

“So are you really doing it?” Yaz asks, as he puts in the approximate time of the day they'd seen the woman they'd thought was Heather McMann. “Leaving? Calling it a day?”

“When this is over, yeah. I've got five million reasons not to stick around. And five that are even more important. I've got a family, Yaz. And they deserve to have me around. Not just some of the time. All the time.”

“You're going to drive Esme crazy,” Yaz chuckles. “Being around all that much.”

“I already drive her crazy. What's your point?”

“You're not worried you're going to get bored? Having nothing to do?”

“I'll find things to do. I've got four kids to help take care of. In a few months It'll be five. That'll keep me busy enough. I don't need to be out killing people.”

“Daddy Tyler,” Yaz grins. “Can't wait to see that. I mean, I've seen it before, obviously. But I can't wait to see it at full force. You going to start coaching little league and soccer and driving a mini van?”

“Fuck you, Yaz.”

“You're going to start wearing cardigan sweats and growing your hair out and shaving off your beard,” he laughs. “You're going to turn into a regular Mister Rogers. You and your Starbucks and your deck shoes and your hipster haircut.”

“I honestly will punch you in the throat.”

“I kid, I kid. I can never see you doing anything of those things. And I'd probably put a hit out on you if you ever did do any of those things. You guys gonna stay in Colorado?”

“No. We're leaving. As soon as we can.”

“Back to Australia?”

Tyler nods.

“Can't say that surprises me. You guys were a lot happier when you were there. Didn't fight as much. Things just seemed to change when you guys went to Colorado. And not for the better either. That's where all the shit started to happen.”

Tyler can't deny that. 

“It's like there's something bad in the air. Some bad fucking karma or juju or something. You guys will be happier back in Australia. I'm going to miss you guys. Especially those kids.”

“You can come and visit. I'm leaving the job. Not the people connected to it.”

“See, you will miss me.”

“Of course I will. Everyone needs a dorky friend, right?”

“You know, you start out so well and you go so wrong,” Yaz chuckles, and then stops the footage on the screen. “So, this is the camera in the back alley that I set up. And this is her. The one we thought was Heather McMann.”

Tyler leans forward in his chair, squinting his eyes. “Can you make it bigger?”

“Can I make it bigger,” Yaz scoffs, as he zooms in on the still. “Of course I can.”

Frowning, Tyler pulls his SAT phone out of the side pocket on his cargo shorts and brings up the photo gallery; selecting a picture he'd saved of the woman in question and then holding it up to the screen.

“Looks like her,” Yaz says. “Sort of? Right?”

“That's her. That is definitely her.”

“How can you tell?”

“Look at the marks on her face. The photo I have is when she was being 'held',” he makes air quotes around the last word. “So the bruises were still fresh. Now they're healing and not as noticeable, but they're still there. In the exact same places. Zoom in on her left hand.”

Yaz does what he's told.

“Same tattoo in the exact same place. And her rings are the same. Same engagement ring, same wedding band. There's no way that's not her. And she never came back out? What time is it...” he checks his watch. “...she's been in there for over eighteen hours? No fucking way.”

“If she came out, she didn't come out the back door.”

“You have cameras on the front?”

“You're asking a lot of stupid questions today,” Yaz sighs, and brings up the footage from the other camera, slowly scrolling through it, frame by frame. 

“Has there been any sign of the kids?” Tyler asks.

“None. Whatsoever. But she did take food and shit in with her. So...”

“Still doesn't mean those kids are in there. She could have been bringing that to people she's working with.”

“You think the shop could be a front for something?”

Tyler shrugs. “This is so fucked up, anything is possible. Stop it. Go back about fifteen seconds.”

Yaz complies, then leans closer to the screen. “Sonofabitch...”

“She came out the front door. She changed her clothes and put a hat on and she walked right out. Right fucking in front of us,” Tyler sighs heavily, then runs his hands over his face. “Fuck!”

“She knows someone is watching her,” Yaz concludes. “It's why she changed her clothes and put a hat on.”

“Fuck!” Tyler rages, as he stands up and kicks the chair across the room. “Fuck!!”

Yaz remains silent.

“How the fuck did you guys miss that? She walked right out the goddamn front door! How the fuck does that happen? She's right across the street! Why did no one go over there and see if it was her when you saw her on camera? You thought it was her but didn't go and check it out? What the fuck, Yaz?!”

“I get it. You're upset. And you've got a right to be. But....”

“I'm not upset. I am beyond upset. Way beyond it How did you guys fuck up this bad? Four people in this goddamn room, Tanis on the street, and not one person thought to go and see if it was Heather McMann? Not one of you thought that was a good idea?”

“In all fairness, you're the expert and you weren't here so...”

“They're Marines! They know how to take someone down if they have to. Jesus fucking Christ...” he punches a gaping hole in one of he walls. “...how the fuck does this happen?! She was right there. Right across the street. And not one of you went to get her. Who was watching the cameras? Who fucked up? Who didn't see her come back out?”

“I'll give you three guess. But you're only going to need one.”

“Of course it was Mark. Of course it was. That fucking prick!” Tyler lays his palms against the wall and drops his chin to his chest, attempting to calm himself. “This is a big fuck up. A huge fuck up. An epic fuck up.”

Yaz nods in agreement.

“She was right there and we could have had her. She could have lead us right to those kids. And not one of you went to see if it was her for sure.”

“We fucked up,” Yaz admits. “Big time.”

“You think?!”

Neither of them speak for several minutes; Yaz waiting for Tyler to fully calm down. He knows it would be a huge mistake; to even utter a single word when his friend is so worked up. Eventually Tyler moves; grabbing a bottle of water from a cooler one of the others had brought with them, twisting off the cap and downing half. 

“She come back?” he asks. “Any sign of her returning?”

“None. And I scoured the tapes. Twice. She hasn't come back. Think she will?”

Tyler shrugs. “She knows she's being watched. She knows you guys are here.”

“Think she knows you're here?”

“Probably not. I'm pretty much non existent right now. There's no sign of me coming into New Zealand. No flight manifesto, no real sign of me on any of the cameras, I haven't used a bank card or a credit card, Nik ordered the car under a different name. So we at least didn't fuck that up.”

“We still have the element of surprise,” Yaz concludes. “At least where you're concerned.”

Tyler nods.

“So we just wait? To see if she comes back? What do you think?”

“I need to get down there. Get my own eyes on things.”

“Could make you. If anyone sees you. If she sees you.”

“Guess it's too late now to worry about it, yeah? If they're going to find out, they're going to find out. But I need to get down there. See things for myself. I don't think it's safe yet to actually go into the building. No way of knowing if there's anyone in there. And if there is, how many there are. I'm not walking into a massacre. Fuck that.”

“You're armed, aren't you.”

“I've got a fucking Glock, Yaz. What good will that do against bigger weapons? It won't do shit. I'd get two, three shots and that's it. We need to know exactly what's going on down there. Any way of getting eyes inside?”

“I could get a hold of my guy. I'm sure he's got the tech. I'll give him a call,” he pulls out his own SAT phone. “What are you going to do?”

“I'm going to go down there and check shit out,” he finishes off the water, tossing the empty bottle into the garbage before heading for the door. “Keep an eye on things. Message me if you see anyone that looks even remotely like her. Can you do that?”

Yaz nods. “Be careful, okay? Don't get yourself killed the first day.”

“Just watch my back,” Tyler responds, and then steps out the door.


	57. Chapter 57

He keeps his ball cap and sunglasses on; hands stuffed in the pockets on his hoodie, eyes always working as they take in his surroundings. Observing fellow pedestrians on the sidewalk, store fronts, cars passing by on the street, any movement in doorways and windows. Anything and everything that can seem unusual or appear even remotely suspicious. He wishes he'd changed into long pants and his boots back at the hotel; there's a chill in the air and his legs and feet are cold, which in turn makes the pain from the arthritis that inhabits his body even worse. Lately it's been a dull and manageable ache; the steady use of Tylenol 3 managing to take the edge off and helping him function better. Today, not even all the drugs in the world won't touch the agony that is beginning to take root in all the effected joints. Once more proof that he's making the right decision in walking away. That he's simply getting too old for this bullshit. And that he doesn't want to be the dad that's too fucked up to be able to actually enjoy his kids. Nor give them the memory that he wasn't able to do the things with them that other dads were able to do.

The front windows of the shop once belonging to Heather McMann's grandmother have been covered over with layers of newspaper, and while he's managed to peek through the small divide between the edges of different sheets, it's difficult to see inside; the sun too bright, the inside too dark. Just able to make out the metal shelving that still holds merchandise and the old fashioned cash register that sits on the front counter. There's no sign of life coming from within; at least not on this level. No hint of movement, no sound. He steps back and studies the front window; there's no breaks or gaps between the seals, making it impossible to get any sort of viewing device into the building that way. He checks the door; a considerable opening between worn out weather stripping and the concrete entrance way, a mail slot, the window pane in the middle frosted and not allowing curious eyes to peer inside. There's options; a good tech guy with the best of equipment would be able to get eyes in there. But how long would it take? A day? Two days? A few? They didn't have that kind of time to spare. Not when Heather McMann has been visiting and quite clearly know she's being watched.

Out of sheer curiosity he tries the handle; it's loose fitting and heavily rusted, but the door itself doesn't budge.

“See anything?”

He gives a small start; he'd been so focused that he hadn't heard Nathan approach from behind. Had he heard even the slightest of noise or had that inkling that lets him know someone is drawing near, he would have been ready for it. A hand already on his Glock before the kid could even speak.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he hisses. “You want to get shot? Because that's how you get shot. What are you doing here?”

“Yaz sent me. Said you needed to have someone watch your back.”

“Doesn't mean you have to be right up my ass. How'd you know I wasn't going to turn around and kick the shit out of you?”

“I didn't,” the kid admits. “Guess I just took my chance and...”

“You don't take chances. Ever. You want to stay alive? Don't take chances. You have to know what you're walking into. What and who you're up against. You don't just go in blind and hope for the best. Got it?”

Nathan nods. 

“It's why we can't go in there. No matter how much I want to. Because I could walk in there and there could be twenty guys just lying in wait. And I'm getting way too old to deal with that kind of fucking shit. I need to get home to my family...alive...and taking chances like that will have me in a body bag. You're a Marine. I'm sure you're used to high stakes crap like this.”

“I've only had one tour. And it wasn't much of one. Conflict was over before we even arrived. You're military, right?”

“I was,” Tyler confirms, as he steps out of the doorway and back onto the sidewalk. “SASR. That's...”

“Special Air Service Regiment,” Nathan finishes for him, as he falls in step alongside of him. “I've read all about it. You guys are legendary. Why'd you leave? Having the skill set that you'd do, you'd think it would come in handy even in the military. What made you leave?”

“It's a long story. And one I don't like to talk about. Look, I like you kid. And I don't like many people. But just what are you doing out here?”

“Like I said, Yaz told me to come and have your back.”

“You realize having my back doesn't mean actually being on my back, right? That you're just supposed to hang out and keep an eye on me? Make sure no one has their eyes on me or won't try and sneak up and kill me? Us being together sort of defeats the whole purpose. If I get made, so do you.”

The kid frowns. “Makes sense.”

“Hey, you're new. I get it. And this isn't your regular thing. You're kind of out of your element here. You haven't done this much, have you.”

“My first time,” he admits.

“You're doing fine, kid. You just have to learn to be more natural. Blend in. Right now, everything about you screams military. If you were working for the bad guys, I would have had you pegged the second I saw you walking down the street. You have to loosen up a bit. Fuck the rigged posture. Act like you're just a normal bloke, out and about. Best thing to do is be about a hundred meters behind me. Not really watching me, but keeping your eyes open. And not just on me, everything and everyone around you. Understand?”

Nathan nods.

“You have to know what's going on all around you. Not just in front. All directions. Or someone will come along and fuck you up. I've seen it happen. Tons of times. You want to get out of this situation alive and go back to your normal life? Don't fuck up. I thought a situation was under control once and turned my back on it, and a fucking teenager nearly killed me.”

“Dhaka?”

“Yeah. That was a shit show all the way around. I mean, a couple good things came out of it. The first days were awesome. But what happened after? It was a fucking nightmare that I don't wish on anyone. So if you are ever thinking of getting out of the Marines and into this life? Remember my advice: don't fucking do it. Because one day you're going to want something normal. You're going to want a wife and kids and they're going to get sucked into this bullshit and that's not fair to them. Trust me. It's not. I've put my wife through hell. I've been away from my kids more than I've been with them. And that's a cross I'm always going to have to bear.”

“So it's true then? That this job is your last? That you're walking away after this?”

“I should have walked away a long time ago. After my twins came along. That should have been it. That's when my wife needed me the most and I totally fucked off and abandoned her. Trust me kid, don't get into this life. And if you do, don't make the same mistakes that I did. Once you have a life...a real life....give up this one. And don't go back to it. No matter how bored or restless you get. Just walk away and don't look back.”

****

The alley way is narrow; just as Yaz had said. Leaving out the possibility of getting a car back there to load the kids into once he manages to grab them. It would be too easy to be corner; a tall, wire fence with barbed wire at the top, making an escape in that direction impossible. The only way out is through the end he'd just walked down; if another vehicle was to pull in, they'd be trapped. They could...if desperate enough...flee through the back door one of the shops or up one of the fire escapes, but with two kids in tow, that would prove to be extremely difficult. Having to navigate through unknown stores and apartments, putting a lot of innocent lives at risk.

That's a direction he does not want to go in. 

He uses his SAT to take pictures of his surroundings; they'd be useful when it came time to planning his way in and out and any and all bad case scenarios he may encounter. And he's about to turn on his heel and head back down the alley when he sees her out of the corner of his eye; blond hair pulled back into a pony tail and her tall, slender frame clad in a pair of baggy linen pants and an oversized sweater. Standing at the entrance to the alley, watching him warily, nervously wringing her hands together. His hand immediately reaches for his Glock but then stops; she's calm, not rushing at him, a sad, almost scared look on her face. So he stands down; anxious to keep the situation as relaxed as possible. 

“Heather,” he greets simply, as he turns to face her. 

“Mister Rake,” she says in return.

“You know who am I? Why I'm here?”

She nods. “They all know you. They all know what you do. How good you are at it. Word travels fast.”

“You armed?” 

She shakes her head.

“Prove it. Show me.”

She slowly lifts up the bottom of her sweater; turning in circle to show that there's nothing tucked into her waist band, nor is there a holster on either hip.

“Legs too,” he orders, and she readily complies; pushing up on pant leg, then the other.

“I'm not here to hurt you,” she says. 

“How'd you know I was here?”

“I saw you. Walking across the street. I was over there...” she nods over her shoulder, in the direction of a cafe across the street. “...watching you.”

“How'd you know I was in New Zealand.?”

“I...they...know everything about you. Where you live, your wife's name, your kids' names. Everything there is to know about you, they know. You don't think they've been watching you? That they haven't been following you every step of the way? They were in Colorado. At the hospital. Your wife's pregnant? Congratulations. That's what? Number five?”

“How about you leave my family out of this. They've got nothing to do with it. They're innocent.”

“Not when they're connected to you, they're not. That's the reality of what you do. That they just get brought along into whatever mess you're sent to clean up. It's sad, isn't it. That in the end they'll be the ones that pay for your decisions and your mistakes. They never wanted to hurt them. They just wanted to send you a message. To stay out of their business.”

“Who are 'they'? Your family?”

She nods.

“You know your husband's dead, right?”

“I do. And thank you for that. He is...was...a monster. And I'm hoping he got what he deserved and now he's burning in hell where he belongs. It's the the best thing you ever could have done. For me and the kids.”

“You mean nothing to me. All I care about is the kids. Where are they, Heather? Where's the kids? Are they inside? Because if they are, we can end this all right now. You can take me in there and I get them out and I can get them somewhere safe. This has gone on long enough. It's been almost a month now; since your husband reported you guys missing. Those kids are scared and they're hurt and need to see a doctor and get somewhere safe. That's why I'm here. To help them. You know that, yeah?”

“I know.”

“I'm not here to hurt anyone or kill anyone. I just want those kids. And I want things to go as smoothly and peacefully as possible. You can help me do that. You can take me inside and let me get them. In and out. I don't give a shit what else is going on in there. I just want the kids.”

“I can't,” she shakes her head, voice cracking . “I can't go in there. I can't help you.”

“Heather, listen to me,” he holds his hands up...palms out...in a request for peace and calm as he approaches her. “I'm not going to hurt you. I should. But I won't. Because I just want the kids. Nothing else matters. Just them. Are they inside? Can you at least tell me that?”

“I need to talk to you.”

“We are talking.”

“In private.”

“Yeah, that's not going to happen. Why would I go anywhere with you? We go somewhere and what? You've got half a dozen guys waiting in the wings to kill me?”

“That's not that I want. I don't want you dead. I want your help.”

“I am here to help. I'm here to help the kids. So why don't you start helping me by taking me in there and letting me get them.”

“I can't. I'm sorry. But I can't.”

“Why would I help you? After everything you've done. After being in on all of this and letting people hurt your kids? You sent people after my family. You had them take pictures of my wife and my kids. Why the hell would I help you after all that?”

“You don't understand,” tears slip down her cheeks. “I wasn't me. I didn't plan this. It wasn't my idea. It's what he wanted you to think. He wanted you to think I was the bad person and that this was all my doing. It wasn't. Far from it.”

“He? Your husband?”

“Please. I need you to understand. I need you to listen to me. None of this is what you think. Whatever he told you...about me...it's not true. That's why I came over here. When I saw you. Because I need to explain everything to you.”

Tyler sees Nathan silently approaching Heather from behind, but he holds a hand up; a signal for the young man to stand down.

“Well I'm right here, Heather,” he says. “I'm listening. What do you need to tell me?”

“Not here. It's too dangerous. They could come back at any time. And if they see me here...with you...they will kill them. No question about it.”

“I can't just trust you. I can't just follow you out here and go somewhere. You understand that, right? Why I can't trust you?”

“I don't want to kill you,” she insists. “I just want your help. You're the only one who can help me. We can go somewhere. Public. Where there's lots of people. You can even bring one of your people along. I know they've been watching. I've seen the girl wandering the street. I know she's one of yours.”

Tyler's eyes narrow, skeptical. “And you just want to talk?”

“There's things you need to know. About MIchael. About my family. About me. And then I'll help you.”

“If I go, he comes with me,” Tyler nods over her shoulder at the young Marine waiting anxiously in the wings. “That's not up for debate. And we stay in public and you don't pull any funny shit. No reaching into your purse, no making any phone calls, no sending texts. Got it?”

She nods.

“Good,” he says, as he takes her by the upper arm. “Let's go.”

****  
They walk for three blocks, then choose the first available place: the front steps of a derelict church that sits beside an elementary school. Far enough away from the centre of town, yet close enough to get back if the dire need arises. And even if someone is watching them, the chances of them escalating it into a violent situation are slim; too many houses, children on recess, too many eyes and ears and innocent casualties. He waits for Heather to sit down first before he taking a seat on the step above her. It's better for keeping an eye on her, and letting her know that he's the one with the power; who is in charge and control of the situation. And he gives Nathan a small nod in confirmation that the situation is stable, and the young Marine begins a casual patrol of their surroundings.

“So...” Tyler says, and stretches his legs out in front of him, wincing at the stiffness and pain in his right knee. “...you wanted to go somewhere and talk. We're here. Talk.”

“I had nothing to do with my children. Regardless of what my husband told you. Not intentionally, anyway.”

“I saw the pictures. You were kept in a nicer place, one of the chairs from your own house was used, you weren't nearly messed up as your kids. And you're trying to tell me you had nothing to do with it? I wasn't born yesterday. I know when I'm being played.”

“Michael told me that if I helped him, he'd go easy on me. That he wouldn't kill me. If I just played along...”

“And you did?”

“I was scared. He said he'd kill them. Right in front of me. And I didn't want that happening.”

“But you were totally okay with letting other people abuse them? Is it just physical or...?”

She nods. “Just physical. I'd rather die than let anything else...anything worse...happen to them.”

“Yeah, well what's going on is bad enough. Whose idea was it? His?”

“He was contacted by someone. He was hired. To kill you. And he went to Guatemala to do it. When he came home he said that things fell apart. That he couldn't get close to you to get the job done and had to kill someone else. And that he had a plan. To get you to come to him. But that he had to go to Colorado to do it. And when he was gone, that's when they came to the house. To grab me and the kids. That part was real. All of us were grabbed. Even me. And it was real at first. Very real. The things they did. To both me and the kids.”

“When did you realize it was bullshit? At least what was going on with you?”

“Two days later. One of them...the kidnappers...he's Michael's younger brother. He told me. And he told me that Michael said I had to play along or he would kill me. And the kids. I was scared. He's always been sick. In the head. For years. And it's gotten over worse over the past two. Hearing voices, seeing things that aren't there, overly paranoid. And if you tried to calm him down or told him those things weren't happening, he got violent. So I went along with it. Because I knew it was true. He would kill the kids.”

“Did you have anything to do with it? Watching my family? Sending the pictures?”

She shakes her head. “I only know what I was told. Just that he was 'handling' things in the States and that he was going to lure you back to Ireland. He said he was going to make it look like the IRA was responsible for what happened to the kids and that you'd cause problems with them and they'd end up killing you. So no one could tie it to him. And things went wrong and he said he had to step things up. That you were starting to figure things out and it was all unravelling.”

“So he tried to kill me at the house.”

“You weren't the only one he was going to kill. And believe me, a quick death would have been a lot better than what he had planned. You saw what he did? To my cousin?”

“Erin was your cousin?”

She nods, biting down on her bottom lip as she fights back emotion. “I was the one who sent her to your hotel. With the first pictures. I was hoping it was enough for you to figure things out. But I think I just made them worse. What he did to Erin? That would have been tame compared to what he would have done to your wife.”

Tyler isn't surprised to hear it. But it still makes him feel sick to his stomach. Bile rising in his throat, fists clenching. “You said there's people in Colorado. That they were at the hospital yesterday?”

“They weren't there to hurt either of you. They were there to make sure no one did.”

“You sent them?”

“I've been trying to get the kids myself. Since Michael was killed. Did you do that? Kill him?”

Tyler shakes his head. “I did things leading up to it. But I didn't actually kill him. I wish I did though. I just gave him to the people who did.”

“Well for what it's worth, thank you. As horrible as that makes me sound to say it. It was the best thing that could have ever happened. For me and those kids. For the world, actually. I shouldn't talk like that, because he was legitimately sick. But some things can't be excused or forgiven. No matter what's wrong with someone.”

“Who has the kids? Your family? Why? If you're in control of them...”

She laughs. “Is that what he told you? That I was the head of things now? It was him. It was all him. That's why he killed my father. So he could be in control of everything. I mean, I can't prove that he did it. But I always suspected it.”

“Are the kids at the store?”

She nods. “In the basement. But it isn't a normal basement. It's designed like the bunker at home. A lot of different rooms, spread out.”

“How hard is it going to be for me to get them out?”

“Near impossible. They know you're coming for the kids. They're preparing for it. They're going to make things as hard as they can. They have a lot of fire power. And not just guns, explosives. They're going to rig that entire place. You won't even know exactly what they've done and where they've put things until it's too late.”

“How many people?”

“Fifteen. On any given day. Sometimes twenty.”

Fuck. 

“Can you get back in there? I need you to do me a favour.”

“I'm taking food in there tomorrow. What do you need me to do?”

“I need pictures. Of everything. Every room, every corner of the room, if there's windows, crawl spaces, what the floors are like, what the ceiling is like. Everything and anything. Big or small. No matter how stupid it seems. Can you do that? Will you be able to stay safe doing that? I need eyes in there and there's no other way to do it. Think you can handle that?”

She nods. 

“And I want you tell them that I need proof of life. And I need it within the next twelve hours. Or the whole thing is off. I don't get what I want...from either of you...and I go home. I leave and then it's up to you to get your kids out of there. Because I'm fucking sick of this shit. These games. Enough's enough. And if I find out that you're fucking with me, you're going to end up the same way as your husband. Only I'll do it myself, understand?”

“I understand. And I'm sorry. That your family was brought into this. Your kids are innocent.”

“Yeah...” he says. “They are. But so are yours.”

****

It's one am...Christchurch time....when he phones home. He'd called earlier in the day; after he'd gotten back from his talk with Heather McMann. Despite already knowing what would have happened had they been both been caught at McMann's home, hearing it from Heather herself had been a kick in the gut. Even his worst case scenario didn't come close to what would have been carried out, and he's been burdened by those thoughts...those images his brain created...since leaving Heather back in alley where she'd found him. So he'd been desperate to hear her voice; to know that she was alive and well, to listen to her talk about anything and everything in hopes of it getting rid of the nightmare that wouldn't stop playing in his head.

Now he's just lonely. Missing home. Anxious to get the job over and done with. The inability to actually get into the building without getting shot or blown up was a set back; he'd have to rely on the pictures that Heather would provide him with. If she'd even come through. He'd been expecting a number of hostiles, but the actual count had surprised him. It is disheartening; the lay out of the building, the alley that leaves no real options for escape, the sheer amount of fire power and the extent the Buckmans are willing to go to to stop him. It goes far beyond getting the kids; they're out for revenge now. They know that McMann is dead. And they know the damage that was done to him before hand.

“I wasn't expecting to hear from you,” she says, and he can hear the squeak of the screen door on the front porch as she steps outside. “Are you okay?”

“Something has to be wrong for me to call?”

“You're usually not a call three times a day kind of guy. So this is a surprise. A very nice surprise. What time is it there?”

“Midnight.”

“And you're not sleeping because...”

“Because I'm not tired and I wanted to check on you. Make sure everything is okay.”

“You are such a bad liar,” she laughs. “I can tell when you're tired. Your voice changes. And I know how jet lag gets you sometimes and your body is still getting used to being back on the meds. You need sleep, Tyler. You're not a machine.”

“You need to stop worrying about me so much.”

“You need to bite me,” she retorts.

“What would that do? You like that shit.”

“You're right,” she giggles. “I do. Did you eat something?”

“I was just going to ask you the same thing.”

“I'm fine. I'm eating okay and I'm drinking and everything is staying down. I'd tell you if there was something wrong, I swear. I'm fine. We're both fine. I promise. Are you sure you're okay?”

“I'm okay,” he assures her, although he feels anything but. He can't get it out of his head; those images that Heather McMann had put into it. About what would have happened had they both been caught at the house. And he wants to tell her exactly what it is that's bothering him, but that is the last thing she needs; hearing what some fucking sicko and his people would have done to her. “And yeah...” he says. “...I ate.”

“Good. Because you can't run on an empty tank. I know how you get when you're really into a job. How intense you get. You don't eat, you don't sleep. Don't do that to yourself, okay? Start worrying more about yourself and less about me. I'm fine. The baby's fine. Kyle and Nik are here and they're up my ass constantly making sure I'm okay. You've got nothing to worry about. Just concentrate on you and what you need to do.”

He knows he should tell her. About meeting with Heather McMann. About how things are a lot more complicated than he ever anticipated. But again, it's that fear of burdening her. Especially at a time like this. 

“Tyler?”

“Yeah?”

“You scared me last night. When you were talking about what I should if things go wrong and you don't come back. I mean, we've had that talk before. But never in that way. You've never sounded like that before. Not in the entire five and a half years that we've been together. You're intense, but you're still optimistic about getting home. But last night....I don't know...last night scared me.”

“I wasn't trying to scare you. That's the last thing I wanted. I just wanted to make sure that you know what to do. Just in case.”

“It wasn't what you said. It's how you said it. How you sounded. Like you weren't even going to try to make it home. You were just so final about it. Like you'd already made up your mind that this was it. That you're going to die there.”

“It's going to be harder than we thought,” he admits. “A lot harder. I think we've all been underestimating them.”

“I told you that these people are not to be messed around with. That they're a hundred times worse than the Mahajan Seniors and Amir Asifs of the world. These people make guys like that seem like amateurs. But it doesn't mean you can't beat them. You're smart. Smarter than you give yourself credit for. And you're the strongest person I know and I know you can beat them. I know you can get those kids out of there. And yourself.”

“You have a lot of faith in me.”

“Well someone has to, because you don't. This isn't you, Tyler. You don't think these ways. When you leave, you always talk about everything we're going to do with the kids when you get back. You always tell me 'I''ll see you when I see you', and you never did that when you left this time. It's like you're not even going to bother to try and come home.”

“Of course I'm going to try. I want to come home. I want to see you and my kids again. I want to see that baby born.”

“So what the hell? Why were you talking the way you were? Because that's not you. You don't talk like that. Ever. You're intense, but you're not doom and gloom. You need to knock that shit off. That's your brain fucking with you. You're stressed and you're worried and you're scared. About a lot of things. And I get that and I wish I could take that all away from you. But you always get the job done. Always. Even when it seems impossible. Look at Dhaka. Everything was against us. And everyone. And you still got us out of there.”

“And nearly died in the process,” Tyler reminds her. 

“But you didn't. You didn't die. Because you're a stubborn asshole who doesn't give up easily. And that's why it scares me to hear you be so final about things. You're not like that and you've never been like that. You won't give up. No matter how hard it seems. Because you don't want to miss this baby being born. And if that's the one thing that gets you through this, than that's enough. Promise me you won't give up. That you'll do everything you have to make sure you come home.”

“I promise,” he fights back emotion. “Whatever it takes.”

“And I know it's extra hard for you because it is kids. And they're the same age as Millie and the twins. Or close enough to it. But goddammit, Tyler Rake. You are not the type of person that just gives up. I need you to come home. Our kids need you to come home. And this baby needs you here. Because if I have to take my brother into the delivery room with me, I'm going to be really fucked pissed at you.”

He can't help but chuckle at that. “I'm kind of useless in there too, so I don't know who would be worse. Me or him.”

“You're not useless in there. I'm just always worried you're going to faint. You think you'd be used to it by now. You've gone in there three times already. You think you wouldn't be grossed out anymore.”

“Baby, I love you. But it is way beyond gross. And I've done and seem some gross things. But that? That is...I don't even know.”

“Well thank God men aren't the ones having babies or we'd be screwed! I looked at some houses online today. In Australia.”

“Yeah? And?”

“I found a lot. In the area that you mentioned. And in the price range we talked about. Right on the coast. I have a top three.”

“Well send me the links and I'll look at them and we'll go from there.”

“I'll even let you pick which one. Because I love all of them and I won't be disappointed with either of the three. I'm just saying...”

“Or we could wait until I get back and we can pick then.”

“See? That's more like it! That's you talking! Not the other guy. This guy. You need to talk like this more and just ignore everything else. Because I know you're coming home. And I know you know that too. So stop your shit, okay? Stop with the doom and gloom and just think about how amazing it's going to be when you get back. How things are going to change. For the better. How we're going to change. Can you do that? For me?”

He smiles. “Just for you.”

“Now go and get some sleep. I'm sure you've got a lot to do tomorrow.”

He nods, even though he knows she can't see him. He thinks about Heather McMann. Wonders if she'll come through with the pictures or if she's just as much a psycho as her dead husband and this is actually just another part in some sick and twisted game. About those two kids; locked up in that basement, terrified, being beaten and God knows what else. And he thinks of his own. Of how they smile and what their giggles sound like and how he's never heard any word sound as good as 'daddy' does when they say it. How they look at him as if he can do no wrong; that there's no monster he can't chase away, no problem he can't fix, no hurt he can't mend. 

“The kids come home tomorrow,” he says, as if an afterthought.

“I can't wait to see them. I miss them so much. And Ovi. I've missed him too. He's my second biggest baby. You're my first.”

He smirks. “Tell them I love them. That I can't wait to see them. And that I'll be home soon.”

“I will. I love you, Tyler. And I miss you.”

“I miss you, too, baby. And I love you. So much. I'll see you when I see you.”

“That's much better,” she says, and he can picture the smile on her face. “Get some rest. You need it.”

“I'll call you tomorrow,” he promises, and then tells her he loves her one more time before disconnecting the call.

Dropping the cell onto the mattress beside him, he stretches out in the bed and places his clasped hands on his stomach; eyes focused on the ceiling as he tries to concentrate on more pleasant thoughts. About moving to Australia and having a place that backs out onto the ocean and being able to take the kids fishing and teaching them how to surf. About that tiny baby currently safe and sound in the warm confines of his wife's body, about being convinced that it's a girl; impossibly tiny with dark hair and dark eyes and her mother's freckles across the bridge of her nose. 

But his thoughts return to the McMann children again. About the hell they've endured over the past three weeks. How scared they must be. Confused. Hurting. 

Ready to give up hope that there's someone out there that will come and rescue them.


	58. Chapter 58

The team meeting/breakfast is scheduled for nine am; out on the roof top patio of Tyler's hotel. He's the last to arrive, hair still messy from sleep, laces of his boots undone, sunglasses covering his tired eyes. He'd finally managed to fall asleep shortly before three am, only to wake up every hour on the hour in a panic, body drenched in a cold sweat because of the nightmarish images that his brain just couldn't shake. He'd been dying for a drink; tempted by the unlocked mini bar in the corner of the room. The irrational side of his mind telling him that he'd be okay with just one or two. That he'd be able to just put the bottle down and walk away when he got even the smallest bit of buzz going on. Only to be talked out of it by the more mature and rational part; that he wouldn't be able to stop, that he'd drink until he was fall down drunk and then all of his progress, even in such a short period of time, would be for nothing. Instead he texted his wife and been brutally honest. That he was having a hard time and so close to slipping. That the situation in Christchurch was way worse than it originally seemed and he was legitimately scared; that he wasn't going to make it home to her and his kids. And she'd called him right away to talk him down. Never scolding or nagging. Just quiet and supportive. Strong.

It was six in the morning when they'd finally hung up. And he'd managed to fall into a somewhat restful sleep; successfully talked down off the ledge, both mind and body ready to let him rest. Then the phone had gone off at eight thirty and he'd immediately panicked; thinking that something had happened and he'd be needed to get home as soon as possible. Only to discover that it was the kids. They'd just gotten home and after an excited and joyful reunion with their mother, had wanted to call him. Excitedly blabbering about all of the fun things they'd done with Ovi and Chloe while they were on 'vacation', all the cool new foods they got to try, the trips to the zoo. But they'd been sad too; they'd missed home and everything that came with it. All the toys and their own beds and their backyard and even the chickens and the goats. Most of all, they'd missed their mom. Her kisses and her hugs and the way she cuts the crust off their sandwiches. And they'd been hopeful when they'd seen her that it had meant he was home too. Only to be heartbroken and disappointed when they found out he was still working.

So now he's late. By a mere five minutes. But he sees the way Mark glares at him as he approaches. There's no love lost between them. And Tyler seriously considers what Yaz had said the day before; about waiting until the job was over and then just dragging Mark out into the street and laying the beating of a lifetime on him. 

“All good?” Yaz asks, as Tyler takes a seat beside him, then slides a cup of steaming black coffee towards him.

“All good.”

“Things are okay at home? With...well you know...”

He nods. “Things are fine with that. She's fine. Kids finally got back. They called wanting to talk to me, so...”

Across the table, Mark gives a derisive snort, shaking his head as he pretends to be immersed in his menu.

“What the fuck now?” Tyler asks. “You have an issue with me talking to my kids?”

“We don't have time for you to be dealing your personal shit, Rake.”

“They're his kids,” Yaz forcefully reminds Mark. “Who he isn't seen in almost a month. He's not supposed to talk to his kids now? Get out of here with that shit. They wanted to talk to their dad. What is wrong with you?”

“You either leave your shit back home or you don't show up,” Mark reasons.

“They're kids,” Nathan pipes up. “Little kids. They're not allowed to talk to their father?”

“We don't have time to be dealing with wives and girlfriends and kids and whatever the hell else. Are we not here to work? How are we supposed to get any shit done when some of you are too busy dealing with personal crap? Stow that shit and get on with business.”

“Sounds like someone is just bitter they don't have a personal life to worry about,” Yaz remarks, as he goes back to his own menu. “Because my sister was smart enough to move on to someone else.”

“There was never anything between me and your sister,” Mark informs him. “It was just...a thing...”

Tyler smirks. “A thing, huh? So that's what the kids are calling phone sex these days. Don't be mad, Mark. That some of us are actually having real sex while you're resorting to handling things on your own. We won't hold it against you. Just don't expect me to shake your hand though. I don't want to be touching something that's been attached to your dick.”

Yaz smirks and coughs noisily beside him.

“And I'll talk to my kids whenever the fuck I feel like it,” Tyler adds. “When I talk to my kids or my wife has nothing to do with you. Or is that what the real issue is? The fact that she's my wife and not yours. You fucked that up, buddy. That was over long before I came around. I'm just the one that cleaned up your goddamn mess.”

“Hey, if you like someone else's sloppy seconds, that's your business,” Mark retorts. “You two are made for each other. You're both fucking train wrecks.”

“Just admit you're pissed off that your ex moved on to bigger and better,” Yaz says. “That you screwed things up and now you've got to live with that and he gets to live with her. Not his fault you're a cheating, wife abusing bastard.”

“Cheating, narcissistic, wife abusing bastard,” Tyler corrects. “You left out narcissistic. Just let it go, Mark. I'm not in the mood for your shit. I'm never in the mood for your shit. But especially not now. I haven't seen my kids in almost a month, my wife isn't doing well and just got out of the hospital, and I'm here putting up with your crap. So how about you just sit there and shut the fuck up.”

Mark frowns. “She was in the hospital? Why?”

“Oh now he's worried about her,” Yaz scoffs. “Not when he was beating the shit out of her. But now. Now that she's with a guy that doesn't do that kind of shit. Why was she in the hospital? How about it's none of your goddamn business.”

“She hasn't been feeling well and thought maybe there was a problems with the baby,” Tyler casually explains, sipping his coffee.

Mark's frown deepens. “Baby? What baby?”

“The one that I put inside of her almost four months ago. That baby.”

“Say what you want about the man, but he's got seriously talented sperm,” Yaz digs a playful elbow into his friend's ribs. “And lots to spare, apparently.”

Congratulations go up around the table; followed by his personal cell phone being passed around in order to proudly show off the ultrasound photos that his wife had sent to him. It isn't his first rodeo; he's been this round four times now. But each time feels just as amazing as the last; seeing the pictures, watching her grow bigger with their child, his child, thinking about how incredible it is that despite all of their issues, they managed to create another human being together. And it's bittersweet in a way. That this will be the last one. The last chance that he has to go through the experience with her yet he here is, thousands of miles away.

A waitress comes to take their orders and talk eventually turns to the job at hand. Most specifically, his talk with Heather McMann the day before.

“Think she's trust worthy?” Yaz inquires. “Did she seem on the up and up?”

“Seemed that way,” Tyler replies. “But then so did her husband and look at how that ended up.”

“Definitely not your brightest moment,” Mark snidely comments.

Tyler chooses to ignore it. “Unless she's a really good actress, there is no way she was lying. It was too real; the emotion on her face, in her voice.” 

He realizes how much he sounds like Esme; when she's going on about how there's times where he communicates more effectively with his facial expressions and his body language than with actual words. She always knows what he's feeling...what he's thinking...long before he ever verbally expresses them. That is how it had been with Heather McMann. It wasn't what he'd heard. It was what he'd seen. And everything told him that it was very, very real.

“And the kids are in there?” Mark asks. “In that shop?”

“In the basement. She says it's like an underground bunker down there. Just like the one back home. It would look like this...” he snatches the pen that Yaz has tucked in the breast pocket of his short sleeved button down, and then grabs the unused napkin underneath his own cutlery. “One long hallway...” he speaks as he hastily draws the layout. “...there's a room immediately to the left of the stairs. Small. Five by six, if that. Another room about four feet down the hall, to the right. Slightly bigger. I'm saying about seven by eight, maybe. Five more rooms after that. Directly across from one another. The first three are the same size; eight by nine. Last two are bigger. The one where Esme found the chair was eleven by twelve. The one where I found Erin Ferguson was large. Thirteen by fifteen. There's a door, at the end of the hall; just leads to a small cold storage area. No other entrance or exit. Just the main one. Hallway is three hundred and fifty feet. Give or take a couple of inches.”

“And you were able to know all of this...all these measurements...even though it was dark down there?” Mark smirks. “How?”

“Because I have two fucking feet and I know how to count without having to use my fingers. That's how. I walked that entire place. We walked it. I know exactly how many feet there were.” 

Just like he'd known exactly how many it took to get as far as he did on the Sultana Kamal Bridge. Because he'd counted down every single one; each step taking him not only closer to freedom and safety, but to her. A number that...as soon as he'd been healthy enough...he'd had tattooed on the inside of his right bicep. Along with each of the kids' first and middle initials and their dates of birth.

“And I never once mentioned that it was dark down there,” he adds. “How did you know that?”

“So maybe it wasn't completely dark,” Mark corrects himself. “Just the rooms. The hallway had light.”

Tyler scowls. “But I never mentioned that. To any of you. This is the first time I've talked about what it was like down there since it happened. How'd you know that the only light was in the hallway?”

“I guess I just assumed,” Mark shrugs. “I mean, there's only so many options when you're underground, right?”

“You absolute motherfucker,” Tyler's eyes darken, his voice becoming menacing as the reality sinks in. “It was you. You're the one that told McMann we were going there. When Esme asked you to distract him so we could go there and poke around.”

Mark gives a dry laugh. “Okay, that's really reaching, Rake. Your brain really is messed up if you can jump to shitty ass conclusions like that so fast.”

“She trusted you. I trusted you. You told him as soon as you met him up with him, didn't you. That's how he was able to get things together so quickly. He knew exactly how long it would take us to get there. It gave him enough time to get his people there and have someone fuck up the comms. Or was that you, too? FBI would know how to do shit like that, right?”

“You're crazy,” Mark declares. “You've officially gone right off the deep end. Snapped that last shred of sanity you've been hanging onto. I told Esme this would happen you know. That one day you'd just lose it all together. I'm glad it didn't happen when you were at home. You'd probably be one of those guy's that would go completely psycho and kill his entire family...”

“Listen you little fuck...” there's a loud clatter of silverware and china as he leans across the table, a fist snatching Mark by the front of his golf shirt. Around them, conversations and laughter all come to a stand still as every eye on the place zeros in on the altercation taking place before them. “...for the last time, leave my family out of this. Don't talk about them, don't even think about them.”

“Okay...okay...” Yaz once again resorts to playing peacemaker. “...I get you want to kill him, but we're in a public place and the last thing we need to do is draw attention to ourselves. So please calm the fuck down.”

Tyler releases his grip on Mark's shirt, but roughly shoves him back into his chair. “I trusted you. I took her word for it that you wouldn't totally fuck us and you did. You knew she was going with me. You knew she'd be there. And you told him. Do you know what could have happened to her? If I hadn't have told her to leave? Do you have any idea the sick shit they would have done to her? Or didn't that matter to you. As long as you got rid of me, you didn't give a shit what happened to her.”

“Is this true?” Yaz asks. “What he's saying? Were you the one that told McMann about Tyler and Esme going there?”

“I never said a goddamn word. He's crazy. Certifiably crazy. We all know his issues. How fucked up in the head he is. Doesn't this prove that?”

“I'm fucked up in the head?” Tyler retorts. “You're calling me fucked up in the head yet you're the one that knew what would happen to her if they got a hold of her? You hate me that much that you'd let that happen? You'd let them do that her? To my wife?”

“Is it true?” Yaz presses. “Just tell us that. Were you the one who told McMann that they'd be at the house? Yes or no.”

Mark sighs heavily. “Yes.”

“Jesus...fuck...” Yaz mutters, as Nathan throws his hands up in surrender of the whole screwed up situation and walks away from the table. “...you can't be serious. Why the hell?”

“Money,” Mark simply replies. “He offered me a lot of money.”

“Holy shit,” Zak shakes his head in disbelief and gets up from the table as well. “This is fucked. You're fucked, Mark. We're supposed to be a fucking team! You brought us here to help and you're going around doing shit like this? For money?”

“He needed help,” Mark says. “He'd already screwed up once when it came to killing you. He thought for the second time would work.”

“And it didn't matter that she was with me,” Tyler states. “It didn't matter what they do to her. None of that mattered to you.”

Mark shrugs. “Collateral damage.”

“You didn't care if my kids were left without their father or their mother?”

“Whatever had to be done to take you out. If that meant she went too...” he shrugs once more.

Sighing heavily, Tyler shakes his head and leans back in his chair, elbow on the arm rest; palm pressed against his forehead as he closes his eyes. 

“Guess things were really fucked once we grabbed McMann, huh?” Yaz inquires. “Guess that's why you were hell bent on getting Tyler to change his mind about wanting to torture his ass. You didn't want anything to happen to your boss. In case there was a chance to make more money.”

“Are you kidding?” Mark laughs. “I was glad when we got rid of him. Means I didn't have to worry about him anymore.”

“You mean you didn't have to worry about him ratting you out,” Yaz concludes. “You realize that we're going to have to cut you loose, right? That this goes way beyond fucking things up. You were going to kill one of your own teammates. Or have someone else kill them. Like what the hell man? For what? Money? Or did this go beyond that? Was this a more personal thing? All because you didn't like the fact that your ex moved on?”

“I gotta get out of here,” Tyler pushes his chair away from the table, taking money from his wallet and tossing it down.

The anxiety is too far out of control; chest tightening, sweat beginning to gather at the small of his back and the nape of his back, the faint quell of nausea as bile sits in his throat. And he's vaguely aware of the sarcastic, cutting comment Mark makes at expense as he leaves; strides long and purposeful as they take him across the busy roof top patio and through the restaurant. Needing to get the hell away...away from the noise...away from the bright lights...away from all the people. Jamming his finger repeatedly against the down button for the elevator; muttering curses and wiping sweat from his forehead with his forearm and trying to force himself to breathe.

“You okay?” Yaz is suddenly at his side, a concerned look on his face. “What's up? Talk to me?”

“I can't...it's like I can't fucking breathe....”

“Just take it easy. That was a lot to fucking hear. You got meds on you or....?”

“I don't need meds. I just need to get out of here. Where there's less noise and less people and...”

Yaz frowns as he glances around the empty hallway. “There's no one even out there. You want me to go with you? You don't look so good.”

He shakes his head. “I'll be fine. I just need to go...I don't know where I need to go...I just know I can't be here...”

“You're not going to do anything stupid are you? I mean, you've got all those guns in your room and...”

“I'm not going to fucking kill myself. I might kill him,” he nods in the direction of the restaurant. “But I'm not going to kill myself.”

“You should call home,” Yaz suggests. “Talk to Esme. She'll know how to talk you down.”

“I don't need to call home. I don't want her fucking worrying about this shit. She's got four kids to take care of and a baby to worry about...”

“And you're the father of those kids and that baby and she deserves to know when you're feeling like this. Call home. Or I'll do it for you.”

“Stay out of it, Yaz. I know you're trying to help. But stay out of it. I'm trying to keep shit from falling apart. And the more I put on her, the more I'm going to push her away and the more it is going to fall apart.”

“That's bullshit and you know it. Go back to your room, call home, talk to your wife.”

The elevator finally arrives; allowing several people off before stepping into the empty cab.

“Call her!” Yaz orders.

“Stay out of it,” he shoots back, and slams his finger against the close door button.

****

By the time he returns to his room, the photos from Heather McMann have arrived; tucked in a brown paper envelope and stuck between the door and the frame. He'd expected an email or images sent through a text message, so he's surprised -albeit pleasantly- to find that she'd through such efforts to make sure he got exactly what he needed. Once inside he takes half a dozen anti anxiety pills and two Prozac instead of the normal one. And he feels no guilt or shame when he swallows them down with half a bottle of whisky from the bar, leaving the rest on the nightstand as he dumps the contents of the envelope onto the bed. Some of the photos have sticky notes on the back of the them; pointing out small details that he may not notice at first but she felt he needed to know about. And while the photographs are promising and should be leaving him with more answers than questions, they just aren't enough. They don't put his frantic mind to rest; the conversation with Mark replaying in his mind, the feelings of rage and betrayal, the sense of doom that hangs over him like an ominous dark cloud. 

He considers just packing it up and going home. Handing everything off to Yaz and telling him that he's done. Get someone else. That he's not feeling confident enough to get the job done. That his brain is too fucked up to fully focus on what needs to be done. That would be more dangerous than anything else; if he couldn't get his head on straight and commit himself one hundred percent, both he and those kids would die. There was no question about. It would be best for everyone if he just left; if he accepted defeat just this once and admitted that he wasn't in any shape to carry this job out.

His private cell phone vibrates against his leg and he slips it from the side pocket of his cargos. At first he considers not answering; he's almost done the bottle of the booze and he's considering opening another and once he starts talking to her, he'll confess all his shortcomings and admit to all his bullshit and then it will cause a big old thing between them. She'll be pissed off. Disappointed. Not meaning to call him a failure but making him feel like one nonetheless. He reminds himself that that's just bullshit; his brain trying to convince him that everyone...even her...is out to get him. She's never...even in the midst of his biggest fuck ups...made him feel like he was a complete and utter disaster.

So he answers it; catching it on the last ring before it goes to voice mail.

“Everything okay?” he asks in way of greeting. “You and the kids okay?”

“What the hell is going on, Tyler?” her response is straight to the point. Yet it's not anger in her voice. It's hurt. Confusion. “Yaz just called. What is going on over there?”

“What did he tell you?”

“Something about Mark being involved with McMann and being the one that told McMann that we'd be at the house that day. That McMann offered him money for information? What the fuck, Tyler?”

“Okay, I'm going to need you to calm down. Less stress, remember? So just take it easy...”

“How the hell am I supposed to take it easy? You're thousands of miles away, getting ready to walk into some pretty dangerous shit with no proper help and no proper back up and...”

“Esme,” his tone is firm. “Calm down. We shouldn't even be talking about this. The kids...”

“The kids are outside with Ovi and Kyle. They can't hear a thing I'm saying. You need to start talking. You need to tell me what the fuck is happening before I get on the next plane to New Zealand. Because you damn well know I'll do it and I know it's the last thing you want. So you either start telling me what the hell is happening or I swear to God. Tyler, I will show up on your doorstep and there won't be a goddamn thing you can do stop me.”

“Are you going to calm down?” he inquires. “Because I'm not saying shit until you do. So you either calm down or you hang up and call me back when you have your shit together.”

“Don't fucking talk to me like that. I'm not one of your soldiers from your military days that you can boss around. I'm your wife. So don't be a condescending asshole and...”

“Esme!” he snaps. “Calm down or I'll hang up and I won't answer when you call back, understand me?”

“Don't..”

“Understand me?” he presses, and it's then that she takes a long, deep inhale, followed by a shaky, uneven exhale. “Are you good? Are you done flipping your shit on me? I need you stay calm. And that baby needs you stay calm. Do you want something happening? Because I don't”

“Of course I don't. But I also don't want anything happening to you. And if what Yaz said is true...”

“McMann gave Mark money...or at least offered him money...to tell him that we were going to be at the house.”

“But why? For what purpose? To kill you? So McMann wouldn't have to get his own hands dirty?”

“Apparently. And he told him even though Mark knew you'd be with me. Meaning if they'd gotten a hold of you...”

“And that's what really set you off. Yaz said you had a panic attack.”

“He should have kept his mouth shut.”

“No. He shouldn't have. You should stop assuming that I'm some weak and fragile little girl that can't handle these things. I've been handling them for five and a half years, Tyler. I spent months sleeping in a chair in a hospital, dealing with a lot worse than this. Having people constantly telling me that you weren't going to survive or that if you did you'd be brain damaged and I'd spend the rest of my life taking care of you. You think this is bad? This isn't half as bad as the things I heard and the things I was prepared to do. You always go on and on about how strong I am. Well start treating me like I am!”

He's surprised by the forcefulness in her voice. 

“You get so caught up thinking you constantly need to protect me. And I understand why you're like that. I do. We've been through a lot of together. We've been through some terribly shitty and scary things. But you don't need to be this way. It's frustrating and it's annoying and it's suffocating. And I don't know why you can't see that. You need to stop. More importantly, I need you to stop. Stop protecting me and start trusting me that I can handle things.”

'You're right,” he reluctantly admits. “I know how much you hate it. The whole overprotective thing. And I don't mean to be that way. But I also can't help it. I can't stop wanting to keep you safe.”

“I'm not saying you need to stop. I'm saying you need to tone it down a bit. I'm not one of the people you get hired to get out of shitty situations. Dhaka was five and a half years ago. You did what you needed to do. I survived. Now you need to start acting like we're not still stuck back there and you're still trying to find a way to get me out of there. You always tell me I need to let it go. Maybe there's parts of it you still need to let go too.”

He sighs heavily, then reaches for the bottle of whisky and drains it.

“What's going to happen now?” she asks. “With Mark??”

“I don't know. Nik can take care of that. She brought him into this, she can take him out of it.”

“I never should have asked him for help. If I'd never asked him...”

“Don't do that. This isn't your fault. You didn't know he was going to turn around and do something like this.”

“Still, if I hadn't have asked him...”

“Esme...stop. This isn't on you. You didn't know he was going to turn out like this. Let Nik take care of it. There's nothing either of us can do about him.”

“You could always kick the shit out of him.”

“I'm tempted. Believe me. Beyond tempted, even.”

“But you're okay, right? Because that's all that matters to me. That you've calmed down and you're okay.”

“Yeah,” he glances over at the empty whisky bottle. “I'm okay.”

“Is there any good news? Are you any closer to getting those kids and getting the fuck home? Because we kind of miss you here.”

“I miss you guys too. And I'd come home right now if I could. And maybe I should. Maybe I should just say 'fuck this' and tell Nik to find someone else. Because I'm so sick of this shit. I'm tired and I'm sore and I just want to see you and the kids. I've had enough. I can't do this anymore. This life. I just can't.”

“Tyler....”

“I can't...” he insists, and his voice finally cracks under the weight of the emotion that he's been carrying around. Is it weeks? Months? Years even? He doesn't know for sure. But the burden has been huge and heavy, and despite his best attempts, he just can't carry it any longer. “...I can't do this...mentally...I just can't...I need to come home. I'm no good to those kids if I stay. I can't get them out of there. Not when I'm like this.”

“Tyler...”

“It'll just make things worse,” he continues, letting both the words and the tears flow. “I can't get past it. What's going on in my head. There's so much going on and it won't leave me alone. It never leaves me alone. It's never quiet up there anymore and I can't take it. I need it to be quiet. I need it to leave me alone and it won't if I stay here. It'll never leave me alone. And I can't live like this any longer. I just can't.”

“Come home,” she says. Simple. Straight to the point. “You need to come home.”

He nods in agreement, using the back of his hand to clear the tears off his face. 

“You've done enough. For other people. Now you need to come home and get better.”

“I can't do it by myself,” he admits. “I know I can't.”

“You don't have to. You know that. You're not alone in this. I'll help you. And I wish I was there right now. I'd do anything to be there with you. You know that, right?”

“I do. I do know that.”

“Just come home, Tyler,” she says. “It's time to come home.”


	59. Chapter 59

Less than forty eight hours later he's on a plane home; commercial this time, opting out of the offer of something more private from Nik. The second he'd walked out of the hotel room, the old life had been left behind. Dropping his SAT phone and the weapons off with Yaz, handing him any and all forms of face identification and credentials that he's been carrying around for years. The conversation between them minimal and tense; his decision being viewed as rash and 'done with the heart, not with the head'. Years of getting his hands dirty for people...putting his life on the line...and he received little more than a clap on the back and a terse smile. 

The decision wasn't theirs to make, nor is it theirs to understand. He doesn't owe anyone an explanation; he's reached the end of the line and for the good of his health and for his marriage, it's time. No longer wanting to be the absent husband and father; tired of missing birthdays and holidays, even his anniversary two years in a row. He wants his kids to have memories of them spending time together, not of their mother handling everything on her own. And he wants to everything right by the new baby. Attend doctor's appointments and ultrasounds, be the one that puts the crib together and paints the nursery, actually be in same country when she goes into labour. It's things that guys like Yaz will never understand; they're perfectly happy flying solo and never putting down any roots of forming any bonds. And he'd been like that; when Austin had died and his first marriage had fallen apart. He'd had nothing left to lose at that point and he'd stumbled upon the job while drunk in the same bar that Yaz had been in. Throwing himself into it with a reckless abandon; operating with little to no fear and even less remorse and regrets. And if he caught a bullet, well all the better. A quick and easy way out without having to get his own hands dirty.

It had been Nathan...the young Marine...that had actually seen him off. Driving him to the airport; spending the entire half an hour talking about how amazing if had been to that he'd gotten to not only work alongside of 'the legend', but that Tyler had taken the time to teach him the tricks of the trade; spending his last hours in New Zealand training the kid the best he could in such a short period of time. Nathan had volunteered to be the one to go in and grab the McMann kids; he was seriously contemplating giving up the Corps and working for Nik full time, and this extraction would be a huge notch on his belt. Tyler knew he could do it; the kid is strong, quick, and deceptively smart. But it wasn't going to be a cake walk; the Buckmans would put up a huge resistance and make things as difficult and bloody as possible, and part of him knew it was a strong possibility that the kid's first job would end up being his last one. 

He'd thought that might make him change his mind about leaving. Even for a brief second. That the thought of Nathan going in to get kids alone would feed off his conscience and force him stay; making sure that not only the kids got out safely, but the the young Marine as well. But he'd felt nothing. No guilt surrounding the decision he'd made. No remorse that he was leaving the job and those kids' lives in the hands of someone inexperienced. Since his breakdown two days before, he'd found himself emotionally voice. Numb. To anything and everything around him. As if every single feeling inside of him had simply been turned off, leaving him as nothing more than an empty shell. 

Getting home would change that. Seeing his wife, feeling her body pressed up against his as he hugged her, taking in that familiar scent that clings to her hair. Five and a half years ago she'd saved him. In every way a person can be saved. Giving up her old life in favour of a new one with him, even knowing what a mess he would be physically and mentally. Sticking by his side through even the most difficult of times; when the monsters of the past came back to haunt him and dragged her along with him into the nightmare. Taking him back when he didn't deserve another chance. Often putting her own happiness and her own well being on the back burner in order to take care of him. Whether it be tending to wounds and broken bones he'd come home from a job with, his volatile temper and the instability of his moods, or just his frequent absences. He has so much to make up for. All the missed birthdays and anniversaries, abandoning her when she was pregnant with the twins, being so devoted to the job that he often made her feel as if she were a single mother. And now here he was, on his way home, expecting more from her.

And know she'd give it him. Without hesitation. So willing...and able...to take on his problems. 

****

“I really appreciate this Kyle,” Esme says, as she stands with him at the tailgate of his truck, watching as he loads the kids' bags of clothes and various books and toys into the bed. “You have no idea.”

“Anything for you and the kids. You know that. You don't have to thank me. Gives me a chance to spoil them rotten and then sugar them up before I send them home,” he winks at her playfully.

“I feel so bad doing this. I mean, they just got back. And now I'm sending them away again? God, I'm a shitty mother.”

“Our mother is a shitty mother. You look up shitty mother in the dictionary and her picture is right there. You're an awesome mom. Always have been. Right from the get go. You always had it in you, kid. That instinct. That way with babies. A little mother hen when you weren't kicking the shit out boys on the playground and making bullies cry.”

“Everything they've been through though. What if this is just all too much for them? Having to be away from home because of 'bad guys', not seeing me for two and a half weeks and their dad for nearly a whole month. What if it really screws them up? What if...”

“Look at them...” Kyle nods to where Ovi entertains Millie and the twins on the tire swing; the kids laughing hysterically and encouraging him to push them higher, faster. “...those kids are not screwed up. Far from it. They're happy, they're healthy, and they're loved. Ovi took good care of them. He kept them safe. Kept them busy. They didn't even realize just how serious things were. Don't doubt yourself. Or what you do for them.”

“But do I do enough?” she frets. “For them? That's why I worry about. I've spent five and a half years keeping this from them. This life. I never wanted them to know what Tyler does. What he did. And now they've been brought into it and people were taking pictures of them and threatening them and...”

“And they're fine. Esme, you do enough. Don't ever doubt that. You've been the one constant those kids have had in their lives. And that's not a shot at Tyler. It's just the truth. I still don't get why he chose to stick with it. Why he didn't just walk away once the two of you got together. Especially once you started having babies. I'll never get that part. But it is what it is. The two of you have kept those kids safe and happy all this time. And they still don't really know the full truth about what he does and....”

“What he used to do,” she corrects, and it feels so good to say. To talk about it in past tense.

“...and they're not suffering. At all. They're happy, they're well adjusted, they're happy. So stop being your own worst enemy. You've done enough. More than enough. And now you've got a whole new life ahead of you. I wish that new life wasn't going to take place thousands of miles away, mind you.”

“It's what we have to do, K. It's what best. For all of us. And especially for Tyler. He needs to be somewhere he can heal. He has a long road of him and I want that road to be as smooth as possible\ I know you don't understand that. Why it's so important to me. But he's my husband and the father of my children and the love of my life and I need him to be healthy. Especially mentally. And that won't happen if we stay here.”

“I mean, I get it. That he's got issues going on and needs to get them under control. Doesn't mean I have to agree with you guys going so far away. But I do get it. And I get that you want to take care of him. Help him. But you need to remember that he's a grown man. You can't fix him. Not if he doesn't want to fix himself.”

“Well he does. Want to fix himself. If he didn't, he'd still be on that job and he wouldn't be coming home. I had nothing to do with that. It was his decision. And he's in a really bad place right now and that's why I didn't want the kids here. I don't want them seeing him like that. They've been through enough and to see your dad an emotional wreck? That would be too much to handle. He just needs a couple of days. To decompress.”

“Say no more. I just want you to remember to take care of yourself, too. You've got a little one in there counting on you.”

“You act like I've never done this before. This isn't my first rodeo. Four other ones, remember?”

“Oh I remember. I still have a hard time accepting it though. My kid sister being a mom. You got what you wanted though. What Mark couldn't give you.”

“More like what he wouldn't give me. You know, at the time, it was the worst thing that had ever happened to me. Then I met Tyler and I realized that Mark destroying things was actually the best thing that ever happened. Because I never would have gotten into the life I did and I never would have ended up in that shack in the Australian outback. And things got crazy and they got screwed up and I nearly lost him, but now look. If none of that ever happened, I wouldn't have them,” she nods in the direction of her children, and then lays a hand on her stomach. “Or this one. Everything we went through led to them. It made it all worth it.”

“Even Dhaka?”

“Yeah,” she sighs. “In a weird and twisted way, even Dhaka. With no Dhaka, there's no me and Tyler, so...”

“You did good, kid,” Kyle lays a hand on the back of her head. “Real good. Don't ever doubt that. Don't ever doubt yourself. Because pretty soon I won't be able to just show up on your doorstep to kick your ass.”

“You're the only one I'll miss, you know. You're the only one that didn't turn their back on me.”

“Why would I? You did nothing wrong, Esme. You're a grown woman that decided what she wanted to do with her life. You made the decision that was best for you. And look what came out of it. Four amazing kids. Another little peanut on the way. And if everyone else can't accept that? Well fuck 'em. You ready guys?” he calls out to the kids. “Let's get this show on the road. We've got a lot of shit to do.”

“Kyle!” she scolds, and punches him in shoulder. “We're trying to cut down on the amount of bad words they say. Not encourage them to say more.”

“Shit isn't that bad,” Millie comments, as she scurries over. “Daddy says shit all the time.”

“Daddy says a lot of bad words he shouldn't say.” Esme says, as she helps her daughter into the truck, Kyle tending to the twins and Declan on the other side. “And you guys be good! No fighting. You've been back one day and there's already been three fights and two bloody noses. Enough. Amelia, stop beating up on your brothers. No matter how much they annoy you.”

“Tanner doesn't annoy me. Just Tyler does. Because he's a dick.”

“Hey!” Esme scolds. “Enough. You seriously want me to tell your dad about all of this when he gets home? About the fights and the bad language? What did he tell you the last time you beat up on Tyler?”

'To hit him harder next time.”

“Something tells me he did not say that. Stop. Because one day Tyler is going to hit back and he's going to demolish you.”

“I can't!” he wails. “I can't hit her! Daddy said never hit girls! Ever!”

“Well one day you might be mad enough and forget he said that and you will hit her back. And you will do some serious damage. So both of you...” she leans into the back seat, tousles their hair and kisses their foreheads. “...knock it off. Be good. Don't drive Uncle Kyle crazy. He's almost there and it won't take much to push him over the edge.”

“Your mom just thinks she's so funny,” her brother mutters, as he buckles Declan into his car seat. “Funny looking, maybe.”

“We look alike, K, so you're just insulting yourself,” she wanders around to the other side of the truck, once again climbing inside, this time to give the baby and Tanner hugs and kisses. The latter is already crying; huge, hot tears that slide down his cheeks and the sides of his nose. “Boy child...what's wrong?” she takes his face in her hands. He's so sensitive; easily moved to tears, his heart breaking over even the smallest and simplest of things, a huge heart inside of such a small body. “Why are you crying?”

“I don't want to leave. We just got home.”

“It's only for a couple of days. Mommy and daddy need to talk about things without you guys here.”

“You're not getting rid of us are you?” he inquires. “Is that what you're talking about? Is that why we can't hear?”

“What? Of course not. Why would we get rid of you guys? We love you. Even when you're being complete pains in the butts. No one is getting rid of anybody. It''s adult stuff. Things that little ears can't hear. So you're going to go with Uncle Kyle and have a sleepover at his house. And he's going to take you guys to do all sorts of fun things. Okay? I promise you, daddy and I are not getting rid of any of you. And even if we did, it would be your brother.”

“Hey!” Tyler frowns. “Why me? Get rid of Millie. She's the bad one.”

“You're the bad one,” she huffs. “And the stupid one.”

“No one is bad and no one is stupid,” their mother says. “I swear, you two are way too much alike. And way too much like your father.”

“That's not a bad thing,” her son retorts, and then gives an innocent smile when she glares at him. “Well, it's not,” he adds with a shrug. So much like his father in that moment; the same mannerisms, facial expressions.

“Are you sure you're ready for this?” Esme laughs, as she climbs out of the truck and stands at her brother's window. “You realize what you're getting yourself into, right? Don't be calling me in an hour begging me to come and get them. Because I won't answer.”

“I've done this before. I've had all four of them and lived to tell about it. I had more gray hair at the end of it. But...” his voice trails off and a smile curves his lips as Nik steps out onto the front porch; returning the smile with one of her own and raising a hand in goodbye.

“You two make me sick,” Esme mutters. “You couldn't take her with you?”

“She said she had some things to take care of. That she'd catch up with us.”

“I swear to God if she thinks she's going to get on Tyler's ass about all of this the second he walks through the door...”

“Well she deserves an explanation, don't you think?”

“She deserves shit,” Esme says, and the kids burst into giggles in the backseat. “Tyler owes her nothing.”

“She's his boss.”

“He still owes her shit. Considering she's spent the last five and a half years trying to get in his pants and fuck up my marriage...”

“Now that's going a little overboard. I highly doubt she's been doing that all this time.”

“Do you want to see the text messages and emails she's sent him? Or hear about the times she's shown up at his hotel room when he's away on a job? She's determined. I'll give her that. But I'm not above beating her ass. Stay away from my husband. I've been tolerating it for five and a half years because he's been working for her. Now I don't have to worry about it. All bets are off. I can say what I want now.”

“Be nice, Esme,” he calls after as she heads for the house. “Don't overreact. I know how you get. Just stay nice and calm, okay? Think nice thoughts.”

“Fuck your nice thoughts!” she retorts, and climbs the step to the porch.

****

“What are you still doing here?” Esme waits until the pick up truck disappears around the bend in the driveway before turning to the woman beside her. “It's over. Your guys are gone. Why didn't you go with Kyle and the kids?”

“It's not over,” Nik says. “There's some loose ends that need to be tied up.”

“My husband isn't a loose end, Nik. He's a human being. A human being that's had enough. It's over. He's done. Why more could you possibly want from him? He hasn't given you enough? All the blood and the sweat and the tears? Years of those things. And it's still not enough?”

“I just want to talk to him. I want to know why he gave up. Why...?”

'He didn't give up. He just finally reached his limit. He's not a goddamn machine. You couldn't see this coming? This has been years in the making. This all started after Dhaka. He was never the same after that and you know it. And you never should have brought him back into things. You knew what he was struggling with. The anxiety, the PTSD, the depression. Yet you couldn't leave him alone. You just couldn't let him rest.”

“Tyler got back into things willingly,” Nik reminds her. “I never forced him.”

“No. You just preyed on someone when they were the most vulnerable. You used everything against him that you knew bothered him the most. He didn't see it, but I did. How you'd put it into his head that he'd get bored and restless and would need some kind of outlet to take all that aggression out on. That he wouldn't be happy just staying home and having a normal life. That he wouldn't be able to provide for his family without the job. Everything you knew he was worried about, you used it. Why? To do your dirty work? To have more blood on his hands?”

“He could have said no. He could have just walked away and...”

“You knew he wouldn't. You knew what he was struggling with. In his own mind. You just didn't give a shit. And you knew once he got back in, he wouldn't want to stop. That it would become an obsession to him. You knew exactly how to manipulate him. You knew he wasn't the same Tyler anymore and instead of wanting what was best for him, you just used him. And now you think he owes you something? After everything he's been through, after everything you help put him through, you have the goddamn nerve to expect more? It's done, Nik. He's done. And you need to back off.”

“I just want to talk to him. That's all. I just want to make sure he's okay and...”

“Oh bullshit, Nik!' Esme snaps. “You don't want to make sure he's okay. You want to worm your way inside of his head and convince him to go back. He has nothing left to give you. Why can't you understand that? He's done. For good this time. And I'm not letting you suck him back in. Not now, not ever. Leave him alone.”

“You even have to admit that it was a rash decision and not done in the right frame of mind.”

“He's not in the right frame of mind. He hasn't been in the right frame of mind for years. And you've either just chosen to ignore it or you just never gave a shit. All you ever cared about what was he could do for you. You've been manipulating him and using him for years and I'm telling you, it's over. I'm not letting you do that to anymore. You need to back off. Leave him alone.”

“Tyler's my friend. He's been my friend for years. Long before you ever came along.”

“Well I came along, Nik. You brought me along, remember? And I know it burns your ass every day that things turned out the way they did. Between me and Tyler. You never saw that coming, did you. That things would happen between us. And I bet you've been regretting it every single day for five and half years. That you ever got me involved. Because suddenly he wasn't available anymore. And that just drove you insane. And it's just been driving you insane all this time. You wanted him and you couldn't have him and you couldn't stand it.”

“That has nothing to do with this,” Nik argues, as she follows Esme into the house. “Your insecurities about your marriage have nothing to do with this.”

“My insecurities?” she scoffs, as she begins 'stressful tidying' of the front foyer; gathering shoes and putting them neatly in the closet, picking up random toys. “I'm insecure about my marriage because I don't appreciate another woman trying to fuck my husband. What should I have done? Just handed him over to you whenever you needed a good fuck? Get over yourself, Nik.”

“I already told you that I was sorry. For the way I'd been behaving. It was irrational and it was out of character and...”

“I've seen the emails, Nik. I've seen the texts. I know that you'd show up at his hotel room when he was away on jobs. What? You didn't think he'd tell me? That's the thing, Nik. Tyler is loyal. He always has been. He was never going to keep those things from me because he knew it would come back to bite him in the ass. He was never going to cheat on me. And he never will. I'm not insecure about my marriage. I just don't appreciate some trifling ass hoe trying to fuck my husband.”

“I've apologized a thousand times. To him. To you. What more do you want?”

“I want you to leave him alone!” Esme snaps, as she tosses the toys into bins in the living room. “Enough is enough. I've put up with this shit for five and a half years. Always telling him I'd never say anything to you because I didn't want things to be weird and awkward when he still had to work with you. But I'm tired of this crap. I want you to back off. For once and for all. He's my husband. Not yours. Deal with it.”

“Esme, regardless of what you think, I'm not here to try and steal your husband. I'm here to talk to him. That's it. About what he's done.”

“He finally had enough. What more does he have to say, Nik? He told you he was done and you need to respect that.”

“I just want to know why. Why now? Right when we were so close to getting those kids. We were so close to the end and...”

“And he's done! Enough! He owes you nothing. He doesn't owe you a goddamn thing. He's walking away and you need to accept that. You don't need to know his reasons. Those are personal. Between me and Tyler. You don't need to know everything. You just need to leave him alone. He's gone through enough and he's coming home and he needs time to heal. Not all scars are on the outside. There's a lot more damage inside than you realize. And that's why I need you to let him go. Because he won't get better if you won't let him.”

“And I won't know how to help him if...”

“You don't need to help him! He doesn't need you. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of him myself. I've been doing it for five and a half years. You were never around; between jobs. You weren't the one that had to deal with what he's been going through. You only contacted him when you wanted something. He doesn't need your help. What he needs is me and his kids. That's it. Now I am asking you....no I am telling you...to leave Tyler alone.”

“I've known him a lot longer than you have,” Nik reminds her. “We've been friends for a long time and...”

“Oh I'm sorry if being friends and an occasional fuck buddy means something in your eyes. It means shit to me. I'm his wife, Nik. And I know things about Tyler that he would never, ever tell another single soul on this planet. I have seen him in the deepest and darkest of places. I have helped him out of them. You know shit about him. Don't make your role in his life seem even bigger because you need to feel superior over me. Fuck that. And fuck you for thinking I'm below you. I'm his wife. I'm the mother of his children. And you have the goddamn nerve to stand in my house and diminish my role in his life? I'm tired of this shit. I'm tired and I want you to go. I want you out of my house. Now. Not five minutes from now. Now.”

“Esme, why are you doing this?” Nik follows her down the hall towards the kitchen “Acting so irrational and...”

She turns to face the other woman, lips set in a tight, angry line. “Did you not hear what I said? I said I want you out of my house. Now.”

“If we could just talk about this...rationally...we could both help Tyler and...”

“I don't need you to help me. He doesn't need your help. He doesn't want your help.”

Nik frowns. “You don't know that.”

“Yes. I do. Because he told me. He told me that he doesn't want you here. He doesn't want anyone here. He wants it to just us. Him and I. It's what he needs. He doesn't need you interfering and being a nosy bitch. Jesus Christ, enough is enough. Just accept that he has a life that doesn't involve you. He has a wife and kids. I know that pisses you off, but that's how it is. Go and be with Kyle. He's crazy about you. And part of me wants to tell you to stay the fuck away from him too, but I know he'd kill me if I did that. Leave Tyler alone. Just accept that he doesn't want you. That he never will. Why can' t you just accept that? Why can't you stay the fuck out of my marriage?”

“I'm not trying to interfere. I'm just trying to help.”

“And I just told you that I don't need your help. Neither does he. What I need is for you to leave. I want you out of here because he gets home. I want you to get your shit and get out. I appreciate everything you've done. I really do. But now I'm asking you...I'm telling you...to get out of our lives. It's over. Tyler means nothing to you now. He's done and you need to accept that and leave him alone. I don't care if you want to be his friend. But be a friend from afar and leave us alone.”

“And you're so sure it's what he wants.”

“I know it is. Because he told me. He wants no connection to his old life. That Tyler is dead as far as he's concerned. And that's the way he wants it to be. You need to accept that. He's walking away and he's not going back this time. So I want you to pretend that Tyler...the old Tyler...never existed. Don't call him, don't email him, don't text him. Lose his number somehow. That Tyler is gone. He doesn't exist anymore. And I want you to accept that. I want you to respect him enough to give him that. After everything he's done for you, it's time you do something for him.”

Nik nods slowly, considering the words.

“Leave us alone. Leave him alone. This is the last time I'm going to tell you. Because you don't want him doing it. I'm being nice about it. Tyler won't be. And I don't think that's what you want. Him telling you.”

She shakes her head.

Esme gives a small smile, then turns on her heel and walks away. “Goodbye, Nik.”


	60. Chapter 60

It's the first time in five and a half years that she's actually picked him at the airport; normally, Nik was in charge of any and all elements of a job, including the transportation to and from home. It doesn't seem like much; being able to do something simple. But it's a sign that their new life has already begun. That all ties to their former existence are being cut; one at a time, a slow withdrawal from the things that had taken up so much time and energy and caused so many issues and grief. And it will a slow process; the out with the old, in with the new. As will the path to healing; long and arduous, filled with a lot of guilt, anger, and tears. But he needs to go through it. They both do.

He stands out amongst the crowd; mostly businessmen in crisp linen suits and expensive silk ties, a stark contrast to his weathered and worn jeans, simple t-shirt, and scuffed and stained combat boots. Easily several inches taller than most. All long legs and torso; broad chest and strong, muscular arms, a backpack slung over wide, sculpted shoulders. There’s a scowl on his face as he weaves through the sea of people. He’s anxious; she can tell by the tension in his body, how dark his eyes are as he surveys the crowd, looking for her. Maybe there’s a worry there too. This was an entirely new situation to them, and while he was letting go off his old life, it would be difficult to let go of all his old habits. If even he could. Perhaps he’d always wonder if there was potential for hidden threats; someone who’d felt he’d wrong them looking for revenge. And maybe that overprotectiveness would never be corrected; perhaps it was just something that years on the job had engrained into him and she’d just have to learn to live with. 

There were worst things in the world to deal with, she supposed; she could be stuck with someone that give a shit whether she was coming or going, alive or dead. This way she’d always feel important to someone. Worthy of them. And she’d always feel safe. She would never have to worry about anything happening to her or the kids; confident in Tyler’s ability to handle any situation. The boy may leave the job, but part of the job will always remain in the boy. It was ludicrous to think otherwise. Those skills were engrained in him now; years of having to use his hands and weapons to save not only others, but himself.

The scowl is replaced by a smile when he sees her making her way towards him. A genuine smile: full of relief and content, immediately bringing that sparkle back to his eyes and diminishing the creases in his brow. He looks tired, but he’s happy. As if the just merely seeing her there managed to lift a considerable weight off of his shoulders.

“Hey,” he greets simply, and she gives her own smile and ‘hey’ in return before he’s gathering her in those strong, powerful arms, one across her back, the other under ass. Pulling her up onto her tip toes and tightly into him.

She curls her arms around his neck and presses her body against his. Closing her eyes as she revels in the feel of him, all solid muscle and warmth. His scent familiar yet still in intoxicating. And she moves one of her hands from his neck to the back of his head, where his hair is clipped right to the scalp.

“I’m just glad you’re here,” she breathes, as she fights back the emotion that threatens to consume her. 

The relief is overwhelming; knowing that she doesn’t have to do this anymore. The last time she’ll ever have to welcome him back home after putting his life on the line for other people. No more hard goodbyes in the driveway, or late-night phone chats, or worrying if she’s ever going to see him again. Removing an arm from behind her back, he pushes his fingers through her hair and cups the back of her head in his palm as he kisses her. Long and soft. And she can’t remember a time in the last five and a half years that both his kiss and his touch have been that gentle. There’s an always an edge to Tyler; a hardness and aggression that he just can’t shake. Even when they make love. But she feels it now; in the way that his mouth moves against hers and his fingers softly knead at the back of her head. And it’s enough to both take her breath away and bring tears to her eyes.

“I’m so glad you’re home,” she pulls back to look at him, fingertips gently exploring all the old scars and the wounds from the altercation at McMann’s house that are in their final stages of healing. There are no new injuries; a first in the years they’ve spent together. No return home is ever complete without at least a few stitches, a split lip or black eye (or two) or even broken bones. Usually ribs. But there’s been a busted forearm, wrist, and ankle thrown in for good measure. 

“So am I,” Tyler says, and presses her lips to her forehead, allowing them to linger there before pulling away, chuckling when he notices all the curious eyes and smile surrounding them. 

All strangers see is a couple being reunited. They don’t know everything they’ve been through though, or just how close it had come to this moment never taking place at all. But he does. The cards had all been stacked against him, right from day one. The second McMann had failed to kill him in Guatemala and had shown up in Colorado. It had all begun to unravel from there, the intricate and deliberate mind games being what brought him down in the end. Not a bullet.

“You look tired,” she observes, as she brushes his hair out of his eyes and then lays a hand on his cheek, repeatedly brushing her thumb against his beard. “Did you sleep at all?”

“I managed a couple hours on the plane. Shoulder and knee both started acting up though, so…”

“In a couple days you can call the doctor and see if you can get them look at,” she gently suggests. She doesn’t want to come across as overbearing or controlling. But she knows just how stubborn he can and how he’ll just let something go for months…even years…and the damage ending up being far worse than it ever needed to be. “Better to do it now than wait until we move, don’t you think?”

“You’re the boss now, baby. Whatever you want.”

“Wait a second,” she grins. “I never agreed to being in charge of everything.”

“I’m retired now. All I have to look forward to is getting fat and lazy.”

“Right!” she laughs, and instead of his arm underneath his ass, his palm briefly travels over it and then settles on the small of her back. “You? Fat and Lazy? We both know that’s never going to happen. You’re going to end up in the gym even more now because you’ll need a way to get out all the pent-up aggression and energy.”

“Yeah?” he looks down at her with that crooked grin; the one that had captured her heart all those years ago and still made her weak in the knees. And his splays his hand on the small of her back, so those longer fingers come in contact with her ass as he pulls her even tighter against him. “I can think of other ways to get all that out.”

“I can’t believe you’re even in the mood for that.”

“I’m always in the mood for that.” What better way is there to get everything out of your system? Anger. Frustration. Sadness. Even grief. It wasn’t a permanent fix, but at least it temporarily made you feel better.

“Well, soon I’m going be fat and gross and we wouldn’t be able to do things like that,” she reminds him. “So you’re either going to be working out a lot or you’re going to studying alone a lot. There’s no third option, so finding some hot blond to occupy your time is not in the cards, I’m sorry.”

“Not even a brunette or a red head?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t share. You know that. So when I’m fat and gross, you’re going to have to come up with something to get your energy out.”

“For the record, you’re not going to get fat and gross. You could never be fat and gross. Not in a million years. You’re pregnant. There’s a difference.”

“I keep forgetting you’re one of those weirdos who find their wives beautiful and sexy when they’re knocked up.”

“If that makes me weird…” he shrugs.

“Well that’s not all that makes you weird. I actually have a list at home if you want to see it.”

He grins, then kisses her once more. Shorter this time. But a little more aggressive. 

She rests her chin against his chest, smiling up at him. “You’re okay?”

“No.” he admits. “But I will be.”

****  
He cries after they make love. A release of so many emotions that have been threatening to swallow him whole. Enormous amounts of frustration, anger, and hints of sadness and desperation. Relief as well; that the most dire and dangerous years of his life are now behind him and he can concentrate on having a normal life. Or his version of it, at least. He was ashamed afterwards; embarrassed that he’d allowed his emotions to get the better of him, that he’d lost control and let himself be so vulnerable. And she’d held him as he clung to her, stroking his hair and his back, ensuring him that of all the people in the world that he could be that way with, it was her. There was no reason for shame. Or embarrassment. Not with her. Never with her.

They know all of each other’s deepest and darkest secrets; things they’ve never told another other living soul. He was the first -and still the only- person she ever told about everything Mark had done: the mental abuse along with sexual. And she was one of the few people that he’d ever opened up to about not only the death of his son, but the tremendous guilt he’d been living with over abandoning his own flesh and blood. Keeping secrets was not something they did; no matter how painful and devastating they could be.

The emotional meltdown, mixed in with jet lag, had worn him out and he’d fallen asleep; on his side with the comforter pulled up past his chin. Exhausted both mentally and physically, his features soft and not bearing any sign of pain of discomfort. The most peaceful and content that she’d seen him -while at rest- in years. She took it as a good sign. That although the road was going to long and bumpy, he was ready and willing to work on putting the past behind him. On finally putting all those monsters and demons to rest. And finally forgiving himself for the choices he’d made and the things that he’d done. 

She’d settled in beside him; tucking her back into his front, loving the instinctive way his arm reached out to wrap around her, hand resting on her stomach, and his leg came to rest over top of hers. The same way he’d been falling asleep for the past the five and a half years. Eventually he’d move; either woken up by pain or because she’d tell him to roll over and leave her alone because he was either too hot and too heavy, or snoring way too damn much. 

The sun is beginning to set when she wakens; finding that heavy arm and leg still draped over her and his forehead resting against the back of her head. She’s hungry and needs to pee, but he’s a light sleeper and getting away from him when he’s in that close of contact is nothing short of a feat worthy of Mission: Impossible. Even the smallest of movements and sounds able to wake him in an instant, the hyper-vigilance extremely strong. And she feels him begin to stir when she slips out from underneath the weight of his two limbs.

“What’s wrong?” Tyler mumbles, eyes still closed.

“Nothing’s wrong. Go back to sleep.”

“What time is it?”

“What does it matter? Got a hot date or something?”

“Maybe I do,” he responds, and then reaches out to curl an arm around her waist and pull her back towards him. Once again placing his hand on her stomach and burying his face in the back of her neck. And the feel of him…that solid body, the warmth that he gives off, the tickle of his breath again her skin…makes her temporarily forget all about her own discomfort. “What time is it?” he asks again.

“Almost quarter after nine.”

“At night?”

She nods.

“Where’s the kids?”

“They’re with Kyle and Nik. Remember? I told you this yesterday. That Kyle would take him them so we could be alone for two or three days. So it would nice and quiet and you could just have time to relax and start working shit out.”

“Oh…yeah…okay…” he nuzzles the tip of her nose against the nape of her neck, then presses a kiss to it.

“You remember that, right?” She can’t help but feel slightly concerned. Had his memory issues really gotten that bad?

“Yeah. I just…I don’t know…half asleep I guess.”

“Do you know what day it is?”

He nods. “It’s Thursday.”

“Month?”

He yawns. “July.”

“Year?”

“I know what day, month and year it is,” he grumbles. “And I remember about the kids. I was just…I don’t know…out of it for a second. I’m not brain dead.”

“I didn’t say you were. It just kind of freaked me out for a second.”

“Well stop…” he implores and kisses the back of her head. “…stop freaking out, stop stressing, stop being irrational. Everything’s fine. I’m home now. That’s all that matters, yeah?”

She nods in agreement, and lays her hand over top of his, lacing their fingers together. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asks.

“About what?”

“I don’t know. Things. All the things. Why you wanted to come home?”

“I didn’t want to come home. I mean, I did. I needed to come home.”

“Do you want to talk about that? Why you needed to come home?”

“Not right now.”

“But you will? Right? Talk about it?”

Tyler nods.

She rolls over onto her side, facing him, and presses a kiss to his forehead. And he gives a small smile and places his hand on the small of her back, pulling her body flush against his. His head dropping to her shoulder as her fingers slowly comb through his hair, letting those longer strands slide between her fingers.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his breath warm and soothing against her skin.

“For what?”

“Everything.”

“Everything is a lot of things. Do you want to give me something specific or…”?

“Everything,” he stresses, as he lifts his head to look at her. “Everything shitty fucking thing I’ve done in the past five and a half years.”

“Tyler, I don’t know how many shitty fucking things you think you’ve done, but…”

“I never should have gotten back into it. The job. After we helped Ovi out the second time in Dhaka, that should have been it. I should have just walked away then. I should have just told Nik to fuck off when she called offering me work. But we had Millie and Ovi and you were having the twins and I was worried about keeping a roof over your heads and food on the table and…”

“We talked about this. It was four years ago. You did what you thought was the best for us. It wasn’t an easy time and you had lot of valid worries and concerns. Do I wish you’d handled things differently? Like talking to me about it before you just went and did it? That would have been great. But it’s over and done with and you can’t go back and change it. You need to let things like that go. Stop holding onto them and blaming yourself and hating yourself. I don’t blame you and I don’t hate you. And you shouldn’t either.”

“I couldn’t stop. Wanting to do it. The job. I kept telling myself that I would. Every time I came home, I’d tell myself that I wouldn’t answer the phone the next time Nik called. Or I’d just say no to whatever she offered me. But I never could. It was an obsession. I couldn’t let go if it no matter how hard I tried. I’ve been away from you and the kids more than I’ve been with you.”

She gives a nod in confirmation.

“And I fucking hate that. That I let it get that bad. That I let myself get that bad. And I’m sorry. For all the times I just left you and the kids. For missing birthdays and anniversaries and all of that. For just being a shitty goddamn husband. For abandoning you when you needed me. I never meant to hurt you.”

“I know you didn’t,” she assures him. “I know.”

“I just took of advantage of it. You. I just knew you’d be here when I got back, and I thought you always would be no matter how many times I left. I thought you’d always be here no matter what and then one day you almost weren’t.”

“McMann’s house?”

He nods, the tears threatening once again. “I’m sorry. I am so fucking sorry.”

“Tyler…it’s okay…” she takes his face in her hands, pressing her lips to his brow. “…you need to let this all go.”

“It’s not okay. It’s never going to be okay. How can you forgive me when I can’t even forgive myself?”

“Because I love you,” she reasons. “Can’t that be a good enough reason?”

He nods, sniffling noisily as he wraps both arms around her, hands clasped together at the small of her back.

Pushing her hand into his hair, she grips it tightly and draws his face down to her shoulder once more. It’s nowhere near as powerful as the breakdown he’d had before; no sound escaping his body, no trembling against her. Just the feel of his tears against her skin. Holding him there until he eventually pulls away, rolling over onto his back and using his forearm to clear any remaining droplets from his face.

She reaches out and rubs his stomach. “You hungry?”

“Yeah, I could eat.”

“Good. Because I’m starving. I haven’t been able to stop eating since the doctor put me on those meds. I swear to God, if I’m actually eating for three instead of two, I will chop your balls off. One set of twins is enough.”

“Maybe it’s triplets.”

Frowning, she grabs her pillow from behind her and smacks him in the face with. “You bite your goddamn tongue! You were the one that made the twin comment four years ago and look what happened. It came true. So if at the next ultrasound, they find three…”

“I will let you chop my balls off,” he promises her.

“Or, you could go and the snip like you promised you would after Declan. It would be a lot less painful than chopping them off. Just saying.”

“Whatever you want, I’ll do it. Make the call. Set it up. Get her done.”

“You can consider that an early birthday present to me,” she chides, and then leans over to kiss him. “I am going to make dinner and you are going to shower and then come and eat with me. Deal?”

He nods. “Deal.”

****  


“I want you do something for me,” he says a half an hour later, as he joins her in the kitchen.

“Blow jobs come after dinner,” she says from where she stands at the stove, stirring a pot of pasta sauce. “Those are considered dessert.”

“As tempting as that sounds,” he lays a hand on her hip and presses a kiss to the side of her head. “That’s not what I was talking about. Although, I might take you up on it.”

“Might?” she grins, as he leans back against the counter by the stove. “You know you will. There is no might. What do want me to do?”

He holds up the hair clippers that he’d brought down from the bathroom.

“We talked about this. You get your rid of your beard, we’re getting a divorce. This is not up for debate.”

“If we get divorced, do I have to pay alimony and child support?”

She frowns.

“I’m not getting rid of my beard. That’s not what I want you to do. I want you to shave my head.”

“Okay…” she wipes her hands off on the thighs of her leggings. “…why?”

“Why’d you want to dye your back to its normal color?”

“Because the red represented a really fucked up time that I didn’t particularly want to relive every day.”

He holds the clippers out to her once again. “Shave my head.”

“That’s a little…extreme…don’t you think?”

“It’s hair. It’ll grow back. You wanted your hair back to normal to forget about something bad, well I want mine gone so I can forget about things. We want to move on, right? We want to put all of this behind us? This life? This job? Everything fucked up that’s happened in the last five and a half years? That’s what we’re trying to do, yeah?”

“Yeah, but your hair? Why…?”

“Just do it. I dyed your hair when I didn’t want to.”

“You weren’t attached to my red hair in the weird and creepy way I’m attached to your hair.”

“Please?” he offers the item in his hand once more. “I need to do this. I need to let it go. I need to let him go. And I want you to help me do it.”

She sighs, and then takes the clippers from him. “Why do you have to break my heart like this? Your hair? I’d almost rather the beard.”

“Okay. Then it’s one or the other. Beard or hair. You can’t keep both.”

She looks down at the object in her hand, then back at him. “I’m really going to miss your hair.”

****

They have dinner first; sitting out on the back deck with nothing more than a handful of candles and the solar lights attached to the top railing. It’s been a long time since either of them has felt this relaxed; soothed by the comforts of home and familiar surroundings. Being able to indulge in conversation that didn’t revolve the job anyone even remotely attached to it. Teasing on another in the good natured and loving way they’d developed years ago, laughing easily as they reminisced about the past four years in their home, speaking wistfully of all the things that awaited them in Australia. They’d picked a home the day before; a four bedroom bungalow on fifteen acres in Cookstown, the northern most habitable point on the Gold Coast in Queensland. It backed out onto the ocean and came with its own private beach; a fair size that would give them the privacy and security they craved when it came to their children. The money had already been transferred. In full. And they took possession in a little more than a month and a half. It didn’t leave a lot of time; to pack up their life here and leave behind what they didn’t want weighing them down.

Kyle would move into their current house. Taking on the chickens and the goats. Ovi…and Chloe…would be moving with them. The house in Cookstown having a one bedroom granny flat a hundred yards from the pool that would make a great place for a young couple just starting out.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Esme says an hour after dinner, the clippers in her hand as Tyler sits in a chair in the middle of the kitchen. “This is a lot harder than I thought it would be. What if I screw it up?”

“What’s there to screw up? You’re shaving it all off.”

“But it’s just so nice…” she pouts as she runs her fingers through the longer strands. “…I’ve only been in love with this hair cut for five and a half years.”

“Did you fall in love with my hair or me?” 

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

He glares at her.

“You of course! But this is how you had your hair when I met you and that’s how I know you.”

“I grew my hair out after you had Declan,” he points out.

“And I made you get it cut back to this. This is all I’ve known. This haircut. And I’m a little attached to it.”

“You think?”

“You were mad when I cut my hair,” she reminds him.

“I wasn’t mad. I was disappointed. I liked it long.”

“And I like yours like this.”

“Because you can pull it. That’s the only reason. You like to pull it and I let you do it.”

“Exactly. Won’t you miss that? Me pulling it when we’re doing…adult things?”

“I’ll learn to deal. Are you going to cry over this?” he grins. “You look like you’re going to cry about this.”

“I might,” she admits, and he can’t help but laugh. “It’s only because I’m hormonal. I’m not that attached to your hair. I can’t believe you’re laughing at me. You’re the reason I’m hormonal in the first place! If you didn’t sleep in grade nine health class, you would have known the pullout method doesn’t work and I wouldn’t be insanely hormonal right now.”

“I’m sorry. I’m…” he bites down on his bottom lip to stifle his laughter. “…I’m laughing with you, not at you.”

“Bullshit you are.”

“It’s just hair, Esme. It’ll grow back. But I really need you to do this. If we’re putting it all behind us, then this is part of it. If we want to let go of everything from the past, we have to let go of him too. Please…” he lays his hands on her hips. “…do this for me.”

“Okay…” she sighs, and leans in to kiss him. “…but if I mess this up…”

“What is there to mess up? You’re taking it all off. You’ll be alright, baby. You can do this. I have faith in you.”

“Don’t be a smart ass or I’ll shave one of your eyebrows off,” she threatens, and turns the clippers on.

It takes all of five minutes; the guard set on the lowest setting before taking the hair right down to the skin. He hasn’t worn it that short since his military days, when he’d been much younger and short hair had been mandatory. And which each strand that falls, so does some of the weight from the past. The memories of the things he’d had to do in the name of survival; the people he’d killed, the ways he’d had to resort to, the money he’d taken. It didn’t matter how many he saved. The lives he’d taken will always overshadow them. 

Killing had never been for fun. He’d never gotten a rush or a joy out of it like so many other mercenaries did. It was simply a means to an end; something he had to do in order to either save someone or himself. There would always be regrets. Over having to do the things he’d done. For making the tough decisions that he wouldn’t wish on even his worst enemy. For trusting the wrong people and not trusting the right ones. There were so many things he’d done wrong over the span of the last five and a half years. And all he could do was try and not make the same mistakes twice. 

“Anyone else you’d shave their hair and they’d be hideous,” Esme says as she unplugs the clippers. “Not you. You just stay hot. Regardless. What a burden to have to live with. I don’t know how carry such a heavy weight being so attractive while the rest of us are destined to be ugly forever.”

“You can see the scars now,” he tucks his chin into his chest, fingers moving over his scalp. “How bad are they are?”

She stands behind his thighs and holds his hand in her hands. “If I connect the dots, I can make a perfect outline of New York State.”

He frowns. 

“There’s barely anything there. And who cares? You have lots of scars other places. They don’t bother me. They’re sexy. They give you character.”

“You’re weird.”

“Maybe,” she shrugs. “But you’re still the most beautiful man in the world to me.”

“Normally I hate the B word, but I’ll give it to you.”

“Good. Because it’s true,” she kisses him softly. “Whether you like that word or not. And I have to say…” she runs her palms over his head. “…it’s pretty sexy. You pull it off. It’s just…I don’t know…” she chews on her bottom lip, tears welling in her eyes. 

“Baby…seriously…” his hands find her hips. “…over hair?”

“It’s not about the hair. It’s what getting rid of it means. It’s like an ending. Like we’re saying goodbye to the last five and a half years…”

“Just the bad stuff. Not the good stuff. Just the job and everything connected to it. It had to go. He had to go. And you know he did.”

She nods. “It’s just all getting to be so final now. You coming home for good, getting rid of everything that came with the job, now the hair. It’s just seems more real. And in a month and a bit, none of this will exist either. We’re just going to walk away and leave it all behind.”

“We don’t have to. We can get the money back and stay here. If that’s what you want.”

“That’s not what I want. I want to go back to Australia. I need to go back. We need to go back. It’s just sad, you know. There’s a lot of good memories here too. I mean Declan was born here. In this house. All because he couldn’t wait long enough to get to the hospital. I bet you thought you’d never add ‘delivered a baby’ to your resume.”

“Nope. And I don’t want to ever do it again. So this…” he lays a hand on her stomach. “…stays where she’s supposed to until she’s supposed to.”

“We still don’t know for sure if it’s a boy or a girl, so…”

“It’s a girl. Trust me. It is.”

“Wanna make a bet? Just a friendly wager?”

“Depends. What’s it entail?”

“If you lose and it’s a boy, you have to clean all the dirty diapers from the time he comes home until he’s two months old. And your track record for making boys is three out of four, so…”

“And if I win?”

“If it’s a girl…and that’s a big if because you’ve had one girl and made three boys afterwards…you get to decorate the nursery any way you want.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Any way?”

“Any way you want. And I won’t complain about it once. I promise. Just no clowns because Junior is scared shitless of them and unless you want him sleeping in our bed until he’s eighteen…”

“Junior?” Tyler laughs. “That’s what we’re calling him now?”

“You call Declan ‘the Ginger’,” she points out.

“We are going to give our kids complexes. If we haven’t already. They’re going to need therapy. Lots of it.”

“Is it a bet? Are you in?”

“I’m in. And I’m already going to apologize for what I’m going to do with that nursery.”

“You’re so cocky,” she laughs. “There’s no proof than some dream you had that it’s a girl.”

“And you have no proof that it’s a boy. So…”

“History, my friend. Specifically, your sperms history. History is not on your side.”  
“I’m due for a win. It’s a girl.”

“We’ll see. We’ll find out for sure in four weeks. Which means we actually need to find a doctor in Australia before we get there. And you said you’d handle all the Australia stuff. It’ll keep you busy and out of your head. Which…by the way…” she rubs her hands against the stubble. “…is a very sexy head.”

“Thank you. For doing that for me. I know it broke your heart.”

“A little part of me died inside,” she teases. “I’ll never be the same. But…” she holds his face in her hands and kisses him. “…you’re lucky you’re hot no matter what you do with your hair. And thank you. For trusting me with that. I know why you had to do it. And you trusted me with it.”

“There’s nothing I don’t trust you with. My kids’ lives. Mine.”

“Don’t get all sappy with me. My hormones cannot take it. You know it makes me weak. When you get like that. I swear you use it to your advantage. You know it makes me weak enough to give you whatever you want.”

“You know what I really want right now? Dessert.”

She smirks. “Are you talking code language for blow jobs or are we talking actual food to eat.”

He grins and kisses her. “I’ll let you figure it out.”


	61. Chapter 61

He can’t remember the last time he woke up like this; gradually, instead of bolting awake because of a nightmare or even the smallest of noises and the slightest of movements. Eyes slowly flickering open, taking in the brilliant sunshine that streams through the curtains; a slight breeze tumbling through the window and fluttering the thin fabric. He’d managed an entire night’s sleep. Worn out by jet lag and the multiple emotional meltdowns and their love making; once in the kitchen, again in the living room, and then their final session in the bedroom. The pain is there. It’s always there. And he suspects it will be for the rest of his life. It, along with the various scars that mar his body, the memories of his previous life that he’s burdened to carry forever. 

Still on his stomach, Tyler reaches blindly for his cellphone that rests on the table next to his side of the bed, using the heel of his other palm to clear sleep from his eyes as he checks the time. 

6:28.

It’s actually late for him. For five and a half years he’s been getting up at the crack of dawn; accepting his role as the one that wakes with whatever baby when they decided it was time for a change and a bottle. It made him feel useful; that he wasn’t just the one responsible for putting in half of the DNA needed to create a life in the first place. So he’d happily and willing taken that on. Enjoying those quiet moments that he shared just between him and his child. Children, in the twins’ case. Often sitting out on the front porch or on the back deck with them cradled against him; enjoying the way those tiny bodies snuggled into him, how all of their fingers would curl around one of his as he fed them their bottle, those bright blue eyes never leaving his the entire time. Pure, beautiful moments that he’d never felt as if he’d deserved. Especially after the horrible decision he’d made when Austin was so sick. It was something he’d thought he’d pay for for the rest of his life; karma either sending him to an early grave or allowing him to escape death time and time again in favour or living with profound guilt and self hate. But then he’d met Esme, and everything changed. He changed. Starting with those five days in a dirty hotel room in Dhaka.

He quickly checks for texts. It’s an old habit; used to either being woken up in the middle of the night or being finding missed messages. Something was always happening; problems with other missions that Nik wanted his input on, a job that she needed him to do, or when she’d been into the wine and she’d send him her many propositions, filthy suggestions, and…once or twice…half naked photos of herself. Constantly flooding his inbox with her bullshit; despite the four kids and the wedding band on his finger and telling her time and time again that he’d never…in a million years…cheat on his wife. The one person that loved him unconditionally, despite all of his bullshit. Who he loved in the exact same fashion. A woman that had come into his life when he least expected and altered everything. That stuck by him during even the most difficult and trying of times, and who not only had given him everything of herself that she possibly had, but a chance at a normal life. 

Nothing from Nik. Or Yaz. They’ve gone silent and he’s grateful for that. He needs time; time to deal with all of the bullshit going on in his head, time to let go of everything in the past that’s been weighing him down and threatening to destroy not only him, but his marriage. His body and mind need rest, and he was certain that neither of them…especially Nik…would be willing to let that happen. They felt he owed them answers; an explanation as to why he just gave up and walked away. He felt he owed them shit. Weren’t years of blood, sweat, and tears enough? Hadn’t he already paid his debts? Wasn’t nearly dying in Dhaka a big enough price to pay?

There’s two messages. Both from Ovi. The first is a picture of the kids gathered around…and on top of…their uncle Kyle in the middle of his brother in law’s living room floor. He’d created a makeshift sleeping area with a blow-up mattress and all of the cushions from the couch, and all of them -including Kyle himself- were fast asleep. The second is a text itself; one that brings tears to Tyler’s eyes. Heartfelt and poignant. That once teen now a man just putting his heart out there. Telling him how grateful he was that fate had brought them together. That they’d been strangers but now they were family. A family that he loves and is proud of and never wants to let go. How Tyler doesn’t think he’s brave, but he’s the bravest person Ovi has ever known.

You have to do battle with your own head every day. And you always beat it. That’s courage. That’s brave.

It takes him several minutes to compose himself; to be able to see the screen in order to compose a message in response. Just a simple thank you. And a ‘I’ll see you soon, mate’. Ovi won’t expect anything else; he knows Tyler is a man of few words. Especially in emotional situations. 

Putting the cell phone back on the table, he rolls over onto his back; grimacing at the tightness in the middle of his spine and at the pain that take erupts in his shoulder and travels down all the way to his fingers. And he closes his eyes, a forearm across his brow, attempting to will the pain away instead of having to actually get up and get some meds; content in the warm confines of his bed…their bed. With that warm, soft body sleeping next him.  


She stirs, rolling over onto her side, sliding closer to him and laying a hand on his stomach. “What’s wrong?” she mumbles, eyes never opening

“Nothing’s wrong. Ovi just sent me a couple text messages that I didn’t get until this morning.”

“That’s because I kept you too busy to look at you phone,” she says, and then gives a sleepy giggle. “I told you I was crazy hormonal.”

“I am not complaining,” he grins, and remove his forearm from his eyes and lays his hand on the top of her head; slowly running his palm over her hair, down onto the nape of her neck and to the spot between her shoulders. “Think we can keep things crazy hormonal in a good way? Because sometimes…”

“I go batshit insane?”

“Well, I was going to say sometimes you’re a little off the rails. But if you prefer batshit insane…”

“Do ever wonder who came up with that saying? Who decided that batshit was the insane? How does someone go about discovering something like that?”

“Babe, our brains do not work in the same way. Because no. I’ve never once wondered that. Do you just have all these wild, weird things running free in that pretty little head of yours? Because I’d love to be able to get in there for just one day and see what’s going on in that mind.”

“Trust me, you do not want to know,” she laughs, and moves even closer to her. Tucking herself under his arm, presses tightly against his side. “What time is it?”

“Almost seven.”

She groans. “What is wrong with you? Why are you up so early? You’re retired now. You can sleep all damn day if you want. There’s no kids here, no dog, it’s quiet, it’s relaxing. There’s no need to be up this early.”

“Force of habit,” he reasons, and drops a kiss on the top of her head. 

“A lot of habits are going to change,” she says, eyes closed as her fingers trace the tattoos and scars that decorate his body. She doesn’t have to look, every location and every inch of each long ago memorized. “Maybe you will get fat and lazy.”

He grins. “You still gonna stick around if that happens?”

“You can’t get rid of me that easily and you know it. It would take a lot more than you getting fat and lazy. But we both know that’s likely not going to happen because you…” her fingers move along his throat; over his Adam’s apple and up onto the underside of his chin, tugging lightly at his beard. “… can’t sit still for more than five minutes. We’re going to have to find lots of things for you to do. So you don’t start getting that itch and wind up back doing what you did before.”

Tyler knows she’s worried about it; that he’ll get bored with a ‘normal’ life. That domesticity and the routines it comes with won’t be enough to keep his hands and his mind busy. And maybe it will. Maybe one day he’ll wake up and miss what he used to do. Maybe he will feel that itch to get back into something more exciting and dangerous. But he won’t let himself wander back down that path. There’s just way too much to lose.

“Not going to happen,” he assures her. “I’ll find something. There’s got to be lots to do with fifteen acres. The house doesn’t need work but there’s other things I can find I’m sure. Something I can get the kid into. It’s going to be hard on him. Twice we’ve uprooted him.”

“First of all, you have to remember that Ovi is not a kid anymore. He’s a man, Tyler. With a girlfriend that is moving in with him. And I know it’s hard to believe and it’s even harder to accept. I have a hard time with it. That he’s not the same Ovi that we brought back here with us. Second, he’s tough. Tougher than anyone gives him credit for. Look at what he went through in Dhaka. He was only fourteen then and that could have easily destroyed him. He stepped up. When you asked him to take the kids and take off. And he managed to keep them and Chloe safe. That is huge. That is a massive step for him, and I don’t know about you, but I’m crazy proud of him and I can’t wait to tell him that.”

“I’m proud of him too. He’s a good kid. A good man,” he corrects when she looks at him. “But he’s still Ovi. In my eyes.”

“Well one day Ovi is going to get married and have kids of his own and then what? He’s going to make us grandparents.”

Tyler frowns.

“Sobering thought isn’t it?” she laughs, her hands in his hair -or what’s left of it now-, palms rubbing against it. “It could happen nine months from now, for all we know.”

“It fucking better not. I don’t want to be a new father and a grandfather at the same time.”

“Especially when you’re going to have so many diapers to change.”

“You mean you’re going to have to grin and bear it when I decorate the nursery. Because it’s a girl.”

“It’s diaper duty for you. It’s a boy. Your track record speaks for itself. You’ve made three boys since making one girl. Think about it.”

“I have,” he curls an arm around her waist, effortlessly hoisting her on top of him, those soft breasts and those silky curves pressed against him. And he combs his fingers through her hair and kisses her forehead. “It’s a girl.”

“You’re going to be eating some humble pie when we found out otherwise.”

“I’d rather eat something else.”

“I could make us breakfast. Or you could take me out for something.”

He scowls. “I wasn’t talking about actual food.”

“Oh…” she pouts dramatically, eyes widening when she finally comprehends what he really means. “…oh…you mean that.”

“Yeah…” he grabs her by her hips and unceremoniously dumps her onto her back, a grin on his face as his hands rest on her thighs, gently pushing them open. “…I mean that.”

*****  
It’s day three when the kids and Ovi return. 

The afternoon and the evening before had been rough; a lot of anxiety, and near crippling depression accompanied by the guilt he was feeling over leaving the McMann kids’ lives in the hands of rookies. Triggered by a call from Nik that he’d let go to voicemail, followed by a simple text of: WE NEED TO TALK. And it had come out in the worst possible way: a lot of yelling and aggression and horrible, harsh words directed at the one person who didn’t deserve it. 

Afterwards he’d felt even worse; disgusted with himself for the things he’d said to her. Yet she’d never retaliated; barely raising her voice, never responding with the thousand and one harsh things she could have thrown back at him, the expression on her face remaining stoic and solid. Yet he’d seen it in her eyes; the hurt he’d caused. That same look she’d had when he had sent her away with Saju and Ovi. 

He’d apologized profusely, and she’d never pushed him away when he’d reached out to hold her and kiss her and stumble over his words as he tried to take back everything he’d said. 

“This is going to happen,” she’d reasoned; so calm and strong and so willing to help him. “It’s all going to come out. It has to come out. This is just one of the ways it will.”

It had passed as quickly as it had come on. That calm and gentle way of hers soothing all the guilt and helping chase away the anxiety and take away the edge of the depression. But they’re always there; lingering just under the surface, eating away at him little by little, always threatening to explode and turn him into a monster. It’s his number one fear; that he’d become just like his old man. The job had given him an outlet for all of the hurt and anger that had taken root in him at a young age; constantly being reminded that he was a disappointment and that he’d never amount to anything or every be ‘good enough’, seeing his mother abused in every way possible. Now that outlet is gone. And while it needed to go, he fears that without it, he’ll turn into the one person he’d vowed he’d never be like.

Nik’s in the passenger seat of Kyle’s truck and Tyler sees the way she watches him; eyes narrowed, creases across her brow, lips set in a firm line. He knows she expects some kind of explanation from him; a reason why he’d just so abruptly walked away. And maybe he does owe her one. After all, they’ve been friends for a long time, and she’d always trusted him with even the most complex and dangerous of jobs. But he feels nothing when he sees her. No remorse that he’d cut those strings without warning her first, no connection to their friendship or anything sexual that had happened between them years ago. 

“Daddy!” Millie is the first one out of the truck, not even taking her uncle’s offer of a helping hand as she leaps from the back seat and hits the ground running, tears already spilling down her cheeks. And he effortlessly scoops her up onto his arms before she can collide with his legs, a forearm under her bum and a hand on the back of her head; tiny arms curling around his neck. “Daddy…” she sobs, and he can feel those tears through his shirt. “…I knew you’d come home…I knew it…”

“I told you I would,” he presses a kiss to the side of her head, closing his eyes against the threat of his own tears. “I told you I’d come home.”

“I missed you, daddy. I missed you so bad it made my tummy hurt. And my heart. My heart lots and lots.”

“I missed you, Amelia,” It’s the first time he’s called her that in two years; since she decided she didn’t like her full name and wanted something more ‘fun’ and ‘kid like’. And he lets the tears come now; not caring who is there to see them. Kyle, Nik. It doesn’t matter anymore. All that matters is the little girl clinging to him with all the strength and power she can muster up. “I missed you so much.”

“I don’t want you to go away ever again. It’s too scary when you go away. I don’t like when you leave. It makes me sad and I worry that I’ll never see you again.”

“I’m not going away ever again. There’s no more going away. I’m home now. For good. You don’t have to worry about me going away ever again.”

“Promise?” she sniffles and pulls back to look at him. “Promise you’ll never…ever…ever…go away again.”

“I promise.”

She holds his face in her hands. “You have ouchies again.”

“Nothing serious. And they’re going away. There’ll be no more ouchies again either. Ever.”

“Ever?”

He nods.

“I like your hair,” she says as an afterthought, giggling as she rubs her palms against it. “It feels funny. Why are you crying?”

“Happy crying,” he assures her, as little fingers work at clearing the droplets away. “Happy tears.”

“Daddy!” the twins cry in unison, and he moves Millie over onto his hip and crouches down as the boys come flying towards him; one arm reaching out to gather both of them into his embrace, pulling them tight against him. Once more letting those tears flow. It’s the longest he’s ever been away; two weeks was the record before. But it’s been nearly four. An entire month away from his kids. Nearly thirty days of not seeing them face to face. Of not reading bedtime stories and tucking them in. Of not being able to even hug them. 

“Your hair is so cool!” TJ exclaims, as rubs his hands along his father’s head. He’s a tough kid; hiding a big, sensitive heart underneath a hard exterior. Tanner is the sensitive one; an old soul stuck in a little boy. And he holds onto his dad with all the strength inside of him; his face buried in the side of Tyler’s neck as he sobs, that small body shaking with the force it.

“It’s alright, mate,” Tyler kisses the side of his son’s head, rubs his back soothingly. “It’s alright now.”

“I was so scared,” Tanner’s voice is muffled against his father’s neck. “That I’d never see you again.”

“I told you I’d be home. That nothing could stop me from getting back to you guys. That there was no one out there that could keep me from you.”

“I missed you so much, daddy. I’m glad you’re home. Don’t go away again, okay? I don’t want you to away again.”

“I won’t,” he promises, and runs a hand over Tanner’s hair. “I won’t go away ever again. Why don’t you guys go and see mommy? I’ll be inside in a little bit, okay?”

He gets more hugs and kisses, and then all three run off; their footsteps loud on the wooden porch stairs as they make a made a dash for the front door.

“Look at this guy,” Kyle says, a broad grin on his face as he holds onto one of Declan’s hand, the baby strong on his legs, gait slightly wobbly. Eleven months old and already meeting such a huge milestone; a proud smile on his little face, blue eyes sparkling. “Just happened over night Esme said.”

It takes Tyler by surprise. And makes that month seem like it had lasted even longer. When he’d left that night, Declan was just learning how to pull himself up to a stand using the railing on his crib or the edge of the couch or someone’s legs. Now here he was, so close to walking on his own. And that emotion chokes at him once more as he gives a “look at you, mate, look at you” and then holds his hand out for his son to grab onto. Little fingers tightly grabbing onto one of his; confident that his dad won’t let him fall.

“She wanted it to be surprise,” Kyle says, as Tyler scoops Declan into his arms and stands up, running his fingers through that thick strawberry blond hair and peppering tiny cheeks with kisses. “She told me not to say anything.”

“Feels like I’ve been gone forever. I had a baby when I left and now, I have a toddler. It’s…surreal.”

Kyle nods in agreement. 

“Thank you. For taking them. For giving Esme and I some time alone. We needed it. There were things we needed to talk about it. Without little ears around.”

“Nothing I wouldn’t do for my kid sister. Or you. I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye, and I said some things I shouldn’t have the other day. About what you do and how you handled things. But I know you love my sister. I can see that. In the same way I know you love your kids. I was just worried about her. That’s all. I know you can understand that.”

Tyler nods. 

“But it wasn’t personal. Against you. It was just the situation. I just wanted you to know that. I was important to me that you know that.”

“I’d never do anything to hurt your sister. Ever. And it’s important to me that you know that. So…” he switches Declan from one hip to the other. “…you and Nik, huh?”

Kyle nods.

“You guys can come in if you want. Stay for dinner. We have tons of food and I know how much you like to get on the grill.”

Kyle rubs at the back of his head. “You think that’s a good idea? I mean, Esme and Nik don’t actually get along and my sister did say you wanted to put everything behind you. I just assumed that means everyone, too.”

“It does. Which is why I think you guys need to come in. Might be the last time we ever all get a chance to be together. We’ll be leaving soon, so…”

“I just don’t want it to be awkward.”

“I promise I won’t let Esme throw down with Nik. I can’t let my pregnant wife beat the hell out of someone. Even though she’s probably fully capable of doing it. Besides, I think there’s some things that need to be said. Before I can actually move on. So humour me, yeah?”

“And you promise no cat fights? As entertaining as it might be?

“I promise,” Tyler grins and then turns to towards the house. “Just a heads up though, if you want beer, better go and get your own. We don’t do that here anymore.”

****

“There’s some things I need to say,” Tyler begins, as he and Nik sit on the top step of the back deck; watching as Kyle and Ovi entertains the oldest kids in the pool, Esme in the house putting the baby down for a nap. “And I need you to just keep quiet and let me say them.”

She blinks at the tone of his voice; quiet, all business. Then nods for him to continue.

“I don’t owe you anything, Nik. I’ve given you enough over the years, especially over the past five and a half. I let you come between me and my family. I let you get into my head and convince me that I couldn’t properly take care of them and provide for them without doing the job. That it somehow made me a lesser man because I wasn’t out there killing people. And if I’d been even half the man I was before Dhaka, I never would have let any of that happen. I would have told you to go fuck yourself and you know that.”

She nods.

“But I realize that I can’t move on if I don’t give you an explanation. Because I need to let go of the past and if I don’t the things I need to, it’ll bug me for the rest of my life. I’ll never be able to rest…truly rest…if I don’t let it all go. I’m done, Nik. With everything. I’m done with that life. With the job. With everything and everyone that comes with it. I realized I wasn’t the guy who could get those kids out. Not with where my brain is. I was more of a danger to them than anything else. Because I wouldn’t have been able to focus or get my head on straight and that would have been a total disaster and you know it.”

“I do,” she agrees.

“I’m not in a good place. Mentally. I haven’t been in a good place in a long time. And I should have walked away when Esme had the twins and Tanner was in the hospital and we didn’t know if he was going to make it or not. That should have been the end. I should have told you to fuck off as soon as you called me. He was a week old and we didn’t even know if he was going make it to two weeks and I let you suck me right back in. I abandoned my wife when she needed me the most. I abandoned my son. Who could have died. And you know what’s worse? You knew how bad things were and you knew they needed me, and you still didn’t leave me alone.”

“Tyler, I…”

“You never could leave me alone. You just kept coming back and calling me and texting me and emailing me. You didn’t give a shit that my baby was in the hospital and might not even make it. You didn’t give a shit that Esme needed me. You knew I wouldn’t say no. As soon as you pulled that ‘you need the money to take care of them properly’ bullshit. You knew that that’s what would get me back out there. Whether it would kill me or not. How fucking dare you? How fucking dare you disrespect my wife and my kids like that. Put that shit in my head and take me away from them.”

“I never meant to…”

“I’m done. For good. I can’t do that life anymore. I don’t want to be that person any longer. I want to be a husband. I want to be a father. Those are the only two things that matter now. And I want you to accept that. After tonight, I want you to walk away and forget you ever knew me. Lose my phone number. Lose my email. Pretend I never existed. He’s gone, Nik. That Tyler’s gone and he’s never coming back. No matter how hard you try.”

“And you’ll be happy? Not being that Tyler anymore?”

“I just want to be normal. I want to wake up every morning beside the love of my life. I want to make my kids breakfast and take them to school. I want to watch them grow up. See them get married and have babies of their own. I want to grow old alongside of my wife. That’s the life I want. That’s the Tyler I want to be. And you need to accept that. I’m done, Nik. We’re done.”

“And when you get bored…?” she presses.

“I’m done,” he forcibly stresses. “This is it. When you walk out of here tonight, I don’t want you contacting me ever again. And I don’t just mean for the job, either. Don’t sit there and pretend that you don’t know what I’m talking about. That you haven’t spent the last five and a half years trying to get me to cheat on my wife.”

She shifts uncomfortably beside him.

“I don’t care what happened between us in the past. It was never going to be what you wanted it to be. I told you that right from the beginning. What I have with Esme? We were never going to have that, Nik. I never wanted that with you. I never wanted it at all. Until I met Esme. And I’m sorry if you can’t handle hearing that. But it’s the truth. And I’m sorry if you feel that I used you or lead you on, because that was not my intention. We were in agreement; it was just sex.”

“It was,” she says. “Until it wasn’t.”

“Until it wasn’t for you, you mean. Because that’s all it was for me. And I know what you think; you think I only asked Esme to marry me because she found out she was pregnant with Millie. But that’s not what happened. I was in love with her. I wanted to be with her. And our kid. I didn’t marry her because I felt obligated to do it. I married her because I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. And if you can’t get that through your head…” he shrugs. “…I don’t know what else to tell you.”

“Tyler…” she reaches for her, attempting to lay a hand on his thigh.

“Don’t,” he warns, and moves away. “Just don’t. My kids are here. My wife is right inside. Just don’t.”

She holds her hands up in surrender.

“You need to leave me alone. You need to stop trying to come between Esme and me. I’m never going to cheat on her. Ever. She’s the only woman I want to be with. And you’ve got a good guy there,” he nods in Kyle’s direction. “He’s a really good guy and you need to give him a chance. Let yourself be happy for once, Nik”

“It’s hard,” she sighs. “Letting go. I get the feeling this will be the last time we ever see each other. The last time I ever talk to you.”

He gives a small smile. “That’s the plan.”

*****

“You know what the first thing is we need to buy when we get to Australia?” Esme asks hours later, her voice barely above a whisper. 

Tyler looks over at her; loving the way the moonlight bathes her smooth skin in almost silvery glow. “What’s that?”

“A bigger bed.”

He chuckles and looks down at the tiny bodies curled up contently beside him. And on top of him. Tanner fast asleep on his stomach; stretched out along his father’s torso with his head tucked under his chin. Millie tucked under one arm and TJ under the other, his hands on their backs and their faces pressed into his ribs. Declan still awake; sitting between his parents, gently grabbing and yanking at a complacent Mac’s fur as the dog rests in front of him. The kids had insisted on sleeping in the ‘big bed’; not wanting to be away from their dad for a single moment. Scared that they’d open their eyes and he’d be gone again.

“One of those double king-sized ones,” she muses. “Or maybe one that takes up half the room. That can be your first project. You can build it.”

He nods. “I could do that. Where do we find a mattress to fit it?”

“I’m sure there’s a place in Australia we could find them at. Or we can just look on the internet. You can buy everything on the internet. And you know what the best thing about having a bed that big would be?”

“I do not want the kids sleeping with us for the next eighteen years, so if that’s what you’re going to say…”

“Actually…” she reaches out to rub the top of his head. “…I was going to say that I love having a large playground.”

He grins and gives her a wink.

“Nik seemed to be in a mood when her and Kyle left,” she says, as she attempts to wrangle Declan onto his back. “What did you do? Turn down a blow job?”

“Why do I need any from her when I get enough from you?”

“Maybe you like variety, I don’t know.”

“The only one I want to be getting blow jobs from is you, so…” he lays a hand on the small of her back. “…stop.”

“You must have done something. Or said something. She looked like she was ready to throat punch you. Ughhh, child…” she groans, as Declan gets up into a sit once more. “….do you have to be so stubborn? Do you have to be so much like your father?”

“You say it like it’s bad thing,”

“Sometimes it is. Sometimes he does things that make me want to drink. Like right now,” she sits up and scoops the baby up into her arms, settling him against her chest; one arm under his head, the other supporting his legs. “And he’s so long and he’s so solid, oh my god.”

“He’s going to be a tank. Probably taller than me. And heavier. You never told me. That he was walking. I mean, not on his own, but with help.”

“I wanted it to be a surprise. There’s been so many bad things happening that I wanted there to be something good for you when you got home.”

He smiles and runs his hand up her back, gently squeezing her shoulder. “Thank you.”

She merely winks at him in response.

“You’re a pretty good wife, you know that? I could spend the next forty years with you. Easily.”

“Yeah?” she grins. “Well I think I can handle a life sentence with the likes of you.”

He smiles, then trails his fingertips down her arm and over her wrist, taking her hand in his. “You won’t have to worry about Nik anymore,” he says. “I handled it.”

“You mean just about the job or….”

“About the job. And us. I told her she’s been trying to screw things up for five and a half years and I was tired of it. That whatever she wants from me is never going to happen. That I just want to be a husband and a father. That’s what I want to do with my life. Be with you and the kids. And if that’s all I do for the next forty or fifty years, then so be it. I’ll die a happy man.”

She raises their join hands to her lips and presses a kiss to the top of his life. “You’re a good man, Tyler Rake.”

“Yeah?” he tightens his hold on her hand. “Only because you make me want to be.”


	62. THE RIVER

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it folks! The last chapter. Whew. What a journey it's been!
> 
> Stayed tuned for the third and final part in the Tyler/Esme series!

On day five, Yaz contacts the house. 

The past forty-eight hours had been uneventful; no text messages or phone calls demanding his attention, no one attempting to change his mind or get him ‘back into the fold’. Nothing that has come close to even remotely triggering his anxiety or his PTSD; the outside world has left him in peace and his system is finally responding to the medications he’s faithfully putting into it. And he’s had things to keep his mind busy and his hands busy; helping with the kids, the packing up of the house, and dealing with realtors and banking specialists and tracking down schooling information in Australia. He hasn’t had the time to think about the job; about New Zealand and the McMann kids and if things were running smoothly or not. Too busy devoting his time and his energy to his own family.

He’s just stepped back into kitchen when he hears the phone ring; shirtless and in board shorts, body still damp from entertaining the kids in the pool., leaving them with Ovi after being the one sent on a mission to grab snacks and juice boxes. He can hear Esme in the front room; talking to both Declan and Mac as they keep her company while packing boxes. While the furniture will stay, most of their other belongings will go into storage; taking their time to decide just what items from their past life they want to bring into their new one. 

Snagging the phone off the counter on the third ring, Tyler frowns at the name and number that appears on the call display. He carries it with him as he heads down the hall and into the room where his wife has Declan by the hand, helping him practice his walking. It’s his favourite thing to do now; using whoever or whatever he can get his hands on to pull himself up onto his feet and use as support as he toddles around. Sometimes it’s even an extremely patient and tolerant Mac, who allows those little hands to tightly grip his fur.

“He is getting so strong,” Esme gushes, and there’s a proud, brilliant smile that spreads from ear to ear. “I don’t think it will be too much longer until he’s walking on his own. He’s determined. Never gives up. Just like you.”

“I need you to do something for me.”

She frowns. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“He’s going to call back. I need you to answer. See what he wants.”

“Who? Who’s going to call?”

“Yaz. He’s probably calling to tell me about New Zealand. I don’t want to talk to him. Can you do it?”

“Don’t you think it’s better to hear it for yourself?” She scoops Declan up when he begins to fuss; angry that he can’t bridge the gap between the end of the coffee table and his father’s legs. For the most part he’s been the sweet and cuddly one; the most affectionate when it comes to seeking or giving. But while it takes a lot for him to unleash it, he has a hell of a temper. “I mean, it was your thing.”

“Do it for me? Please? I don’t want to talk to him. To any of them.”

“Okay,” she relents, and then passes Declan over in exchange for the phone. “Are you alright? You don’t look so good all of a sudden.”

“I’ll be fine,” he assures her, and then gives her a chaste kiss to the lips and another to the forehead before leaving the room.

****

An hour later she finds him on the back deck, sitting in one of the oversized wooden chairs with his legs stretches out in front of him; hands clasped together and resting against his stomach. Sunglasses on as he watches Ovi -with Declan on his hip- and the kids tend to feeding the goats and chickens. And she stands silently alongside of him, his cell phone in one hand, the other shielding her eyes from the sun as she observes Ovi teaching Declan how to hold the chicken feed in his palms.

“Do you want to know?” she asks. “About New Zealand?”

“I don’t know,” Tyler replies. “Do I?”

She nods, then perches herself on his left thigh. Both of his arms circling her waist and one of her hands come up to rest at the back of his neck, finger nails lightly scratching that the bottom of his hair line.

“They got the kids,” she says. “Nathan was able to get them out. And himself.”

He nods slowly. “Hurt?”

‘Nothing too serious. Took a bullet to the right arm but it was a through and through and it didn’t cause any real damage. Zak wasn’t so lucky. He went in to help and got pretty messed up. Yaz didn’t really go into details. Just said that Zak was in the hospital and it was pretty touch and go at first but doctors are ‘cautiously optimistic’ that he’ll pull through.”

“Better than dead,” Tyler reasons. “And the kids?”

“Dehydrated. Malnourished. They’ll be in the hospital for a little bit. Yaz said they’d been put through hell. The abuse was pretty bad. Worse than any of us thought it would be.”

Tyler sighs heavily and tightens his hold on her.

“When they’re well enough, they’ll be reunited with their mom. Nik’s arranged a safe house for them out of the country when they’re good to go. Yaz thought maybe you’d want to know. You were pretty invested in things and you were the one that taught Nathan everything he needed to know. So you did your part. In getting those kids out.”

He nods.

“He wants to contact you. Nathan. I said I didn’t know if you were ready for that yet. But I put his information in your cell. Just in case. Okay?”

“Okay,” he agrees, and presses a kiss to her shoulder.

“You’re disappointed aren’t you. That you weren’t there. That you weren’t the one to get those kids out.” 

“A little,” he admits. “It’s the first time I’ve ever bailed on a job.”

“You had a good reason,” she reminds him. “A very good and valid reason.”

“Doesn’t make it any easier. It’s a blow to the ego. When you have to admit you’re not even half the man you used to be.”

“You know that’s not true, Tyler. You just didn’t want to be that man anymore. Everyone has their breaking point. No matter how tough and strong they are. And one day they reach it and they’ve just had enough. You’d had enough. There’s no shame to be found in that.”

He merely gives another nod. It’s not that simple; giving up one life for the other. Even if you do know it’s the best decision for both yourself and your family. You get used to it: the adrenaline, the excitement, even the glimmers of fear. They all become a piece of who you are; they feed you, nourish you. And it’s a hard blow when they’re taken away. Even if it was a conscious decision to let them go.

“It takes a strong man to admit when he’s finally had enough. To know his limits. That’s what bravery is, Tyler. Knowing when something is going to break you and having enough strength to not let it happen.” She lays her hand on the side of his face; fingers pressing into his jaw as she turns her head towards her. “And you’re the strongest man I’ve ever met.”

He gives a small smile, one arm slipping from around her waist and his hand coming to rest on her thigh as she leans in to kiss him. Soft. Slow. Sweet. Her lips warm and soothing against his.

She wraps both arms around his neck and rests her head on his shoulder. And they’re silent as they watch their family; the older kids chasing each other with the running garden hose, a beaming and content Ovi holding Declan by both hands as he toddles through the grass. 

It should be enough. This kind of life. A wife and kids. Domesticity. Routine. Yet there’s an emptiness Tyler can’t quite explain. It’s only be a few days; it’s still fresh and he’s still trying to get used to the idea that this is it for him. There will be no more phone calls from Nik. No more jobs. No more putting his life on the line for complete strangers. No more taking lives. And that should be comforting. It should be a welcome relief. But all he feels is regret. Even guilt. And disappointment. In himself.

“Mark’s dead,” Esme announces, no emotion registering on her face or in her eyes, and she presses her nose to his temple and rests her brow against the side of his head. 

“How?”

“Nathan killed him. He didn’t have a choice. Mark showed up looking for you. To finish what McMann couldn’t. I guess he went on a rampage when he found out that you had left. Threatened to kill the kids. So Nathan took care of it.”

“Well…at the risk of sounding like a complete fucking asshole…”

“He had it coming,” she finishes for him.

Tyler nods, the softly rubs her thigh. “You okay?”

“Does it make me a horrible person that I feel…I don’t know…nothing? Even when Yaz told me, I felt nothing. I wasn’t happy, I wasn’t sad. I just didn’t care. Holy fuck, I’m a terrible person, aren’t I.”

“No baby, you’re not,” he assures her, as he presses a kiss to her cheek, then rubs the tip his nose against her temple. “You’re not a terrible person at all.”

“Maybe I do feel something. Relief. A whole lot of relief. Because that chapter of my life is officially over. He doesn’t exist anymore. Which means he can take all his bullshit to hell with him. I don’t have to hold onto it anymore. I’ve been holding on it for far too long and I’m tired,” she lays her head on his shoulder once more, her knuckles repeatedly rubbing against his head. “I’m tired of letting it drag me down.”

“It’s going to be okay,” Tyler assures her, stroking her back with the palm of her hand. “You don’t have to worry about him anymore. You can just let all that shit go. Same way I’m letting all my shit go.”

“I’m sorry I ever brought him into things. That I was dumb enough to trust him.”

“You’d thought he’d turned over a new leaf. That’s not dumb. Hopeful, maybe? Naïve, even?”

“I should have known better. That he was incapable of real change. He tried to kill you. Or tried to help someone kill you. Which is bad enough. And he didn’t even care that I was there and would have been caught up in it. He knew what they’d to do me and he didn’t even give a shit. What kind of person does things like that?”

“A sick fuck, that’s who. And I don’t want to talk about this. About McMann’s house. And what could have happened. I can’t talk about that.” Of all the things that will continue to haunt him…perhaps even for the rest of his life…that will be the one haunts him the most. How close he’d come to not only losing her, but having to witness what they would have done to her before finally killing her. 

“And I’m sorry for the last five and a half years,” she says, tears welling in her eyes. “That I made you feel like you were constantly being compared to him. Because that’s not what I was trying to do. At all. I was never comparing you to him.”

“I know you weren’t,” he squeezes shoulder. “I know.”

“It was a shitty thing for me to do,” she wipes at the tears that manage to escape. “To treat you like that. You didn’t deserve that. And you put up with it and you stuck around and I still don’t understand why.”

“Because I love you,” he turns his face into hers and places his lips against her forehead. “And because I’m a stubborn asshole that likes punishment,” he teases.

She gives a small laugh. “I don’t know how you can love me so much when I don’t even love myself.”

“Well, that’s what I’m here for, right? To teach you how to love yourself. And you know how much I love a good challenge and that I don’t give up easily.”

“I’m just so sorry,” she cries in earnest now, face against the side of his throat, one arm around his neck, the other along his collarbone. “I never meant to hurt you. I just didn’t know how to love someone. When you’re so used to the worst, it’s hard to get used to the best. And I’m sorry that I made you work so hard. That I made you feel shit or like I didn’t love you…”

“I never thought that. I’ve never thought that.”

“Because I do. Love you. With everything I am and everything I have.”

“I love you, too. I always have. I always will.”

She’s smiling as she lifts her head from his shoulder. “Even when I’m a huge bitch?”

He grins and presses a kiss to her brow before drawing her head back down to rest on him once more. “Even then.”

****

On the fifth night they sit with Ovi on the front porch. Sipping warm drinks and chatting; enjoying the cool breeze and the sounds of the crickets in the bushes. Tyler and Esme on the swing, her body turned sideways with her back resting against his side, one of his forearms laying across her collarbone. Ovi sit on the front in front of them; cross legged with an old plaid blanket draped over his shoulders and back. The conversation is light; memories they’ve shared while in Colorado, funny things that the kids have said or done, the holidays and birthdays that have been celebrated. 

Ovi had turned fifteen his first year with them, and when he’d woken up that morning he’d been shocked to find his bedroom door covered in balloons and streamers, and presents waiting for him when he got downstairs. His birthday had never been celebrated before, and he’d been so overwhelmed by their generosity and their love that he’d cried. Both then and when they’d taken him out for dinner and given him a birthday cake. And Christmas had become one of his favourite times of the year; the delicious food, the decorations, helping put lights on the house and getting to play with the kids in the snow. All the things he’d never would have gotten to experience if Tyler had not gone to that prison in Mumbai and convinced Mahajan Senior to give them guardianship.

“We’ve come a long way,” Ovi muses, as he stares out into the night, the palms of his hands resting on the sides of a mug of hot chocolate. “Since Dhaka.”

The memories are still there. For all of them. It’s dark and it’s painful and sometimes it is all still so raw. Each of them tarnished and broken in their own ways; physically and mentally. The scars may linger on the surface, but the real damage was on the inside, and it was taking longer to heal than any of them had ever expected. And maybe it never would. Maybe there’d always be that lingering agony; a nightmare that they just can’t wake up from. 

It has been harder for Ovi, naturally. He’d been a kid when it all happened; his father’s mistakes forcing him into sheer and utter hell. It has caused long term damage; depression, anxiety, periods of self harm and wanting to kill himself. All of which they’ve supported him through and still continue to do so. It goes way past simply having guardianship of someone. He is a valuable and respected member of their family. Loved as if he’s one of their own. And he is. Maybe not biologically. But the way he fills a place in their hearts and in their lives is clear that he is their child.

Esme senses the change in the teenager; the darkness that suddenly creeps in and wipes the smile from his face. He was always smiling; even when he didn’t have a reason to. And she swings both her legs over the edge of the swing; sitting up properly and she wraps her arms around his neck from behind. Squeezing tightly as she drops a kiss on the top of his head. He’s changed so much. No longer that young boy she’d tried to comfort in the factory they’d taken refuge in; trying to distract him by asking questions about schools and sports and girls. Perhaps that’s when their bond began; when she’d stopped worrying about her own issues and her own fear and had started mothering a perfect stranger. A drug lord’s kid that Nik had wanted them to leave in the street. As if he was nothing more than garbage that needed to be discarded.

He appreciates the gesture of love and comfort; briefly closing his eyes as he leans his head back against her.

“I often wonder what happened,” she says, as she tousles his hair. “To that girl you told me about.”

He laughs at that. “So do I. Sometimes. But I have Chloe now. No one else matters.”

“And that’s how it starts,” Tyler speaks up. “One day you wake up and you can’t remember anyone else that came before them. And you don’t want to.”

Esme smiles over her shoulder at him, and he gives a grin of his own and a wink, then reaches out to rub her back. “I completely underestimated you,” she says. “I was totally expecting some smart ass comment and you came out with that.”

“It’s the ones you least expect,” Ovi laughs. “You know, I hope one day that Chloe and I are like you guys. The way you love each other. How you never give up on one another even when things get really bad. You’re not perfect, but you’re perfect for each other. If that makes sense.”

“Makes total sense,” Esme says, and hugs him even tighter. “I hate that you’re growing up so quick,” she laments. “That you’re not little Ovi anymore. You’re not that kid who was telling me about girls and school and the kinds of movies he liked. Now you’ve got a serious girlfriend and you’re going to be living with her and pretty soon you’ll get married and have babies and…”

Tyler groans. “Not this again.”

“It’s true!” she insists. “Whether you want to admit it or not, it’s going to happen.”

“Let him get out of his teens before you have him getting married and having kids, yeah? Jesus.”

“Well Tyler may be living in denial but I’m not,” she kisses Ovi’s cheek. “You know, sometimes I miss that Ovi. The one that would want to come and sleep with me every time Tyler was away. Because you’d have nightmares and you didn’t want to be alone. But I really like this Ovi. You’re brave and you’re strong and you’ve got a huge heart. I hope you never lose any of those things. And what you did for us? When Tyler asked you to take the kids and run? That was huge. We trusted you with the most precious, important things in our lives and you did incredible. You kept them safe. And I could never thank you enough for that.”

He simply nods, teeth digging into his bottom lip as he struggles with emotion. “I did what I had to do.”

“I’m proud of you,” she says. “We’re proud of you.”

That’s all it takes for the tears to escape; sliding down his face as he turns towards her, both arms wrapping around her waist, face burying in her stomach. Just like that he’s a kid again; his body trembling as he cries, hands tightly gripping the back of her sweater. And she holds him just like she used to when he’d have nightmares and she’d go into his room to check on him; one hand in the middle of his back moving in slow comforting circles, the fingers of the other combing through his hair. It’s soothing; before long his body stops shaking and he’s sniffling noisily as he moves away from her, wiping at the remnants of his tears with the backs of his hands. And she presses a kiss to his cheek and ruffles his hair. 

“You know what I really hated?” Ovi asks, still sniffling. “In Dhaka?”

“The sewer.”

He and Esme say it at the same time, and he looks over his shoulder at her; both of them erupting into laughter. 

“If I never see another rat again, it will be too soon,” Ovi declares.

“Well it’s a good thing you never met my ex husband,” Esme says. “Because he was probably the biggest rat out there.”

Tyler chuckles at that.

“As much as I would love to sit here all night discussing the most disgusting sewer on the planet, I am beat. And I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow, so…” she presses a kiss to Ovi’s cheek and then pats his shoulders before standing. “…I’m going to bed. You boys be good. Don’t get too wild and crazy. No inviting any strippers over. I don’t want to spend the next week vacuuming body glitter out of the carpets and furniture.”

“I won’t be long,” Tyler tells her, a hand on her hip as she leans over to kiss him. “I’ll be up soon.”

“No rush. You guys spend some time together. It’s been a while.”

He nods, then gives her a small pat on the butt before she gathers up their empty mugs and heads inside the house.

****

Tyler sits beside him now; next to each other on the top step. Eerily reminiscent of that night in Gaspar’s house after Ovi had shot and killed him, when the kid had clung to him and cried about wanting to go home. Tyler had kept his promise; doing whatever it took to get Ovi there. Even at the expense of his own life.  


Five and a half years later, he realizes that home for Ovi wasn't that cold and sterile mansion in Mumbai. It never really had been. It was wherever they’d brought him along to. Starting with the crowded basement at Esme’s mothers, continuing with a handful of small yet quaint hotel rooms, and then ending with that farm house in rural Telluride, Colorado. And it would be Australia next. In a place on the beach; with quiet, solitude, privacy. Where they could continue to heal. Together.  


“That text message you sent,” Tyler begins. “I didn’t know what to say back. Hope you didn’t think I was an asshole. With what I sent back.”

Ovi shakes his head. “I didn’t expect you to send anything back,” he says. “I just sent it because…” he shrugs. “…because I felt I needed to say it. And because maybe you needed to hear it.”

Tyler nods. “I did. Need to hear it. Because I’ve been feeling anything but brave.”

“Maybe you’ll never see yourself that way. But I do. Esme does. And so do your kids.”

He gives a small smile. It’s a blessing and a curse; to have people love you and trust you that much. 

“Did they get the kids?” Ovi asks. “Are they okay?”

“They will be. They’ve been put through hell. It’s going to take a long time for them to get better.”

“Inside and outside,” Ovi concludes, and Tyler nods. “We both know how that feels.”

“We do,” Tyler agrees. “And I’m not going to lie to you, mate. I’ve got a long way to go. I’m fucked up. My brain’s a mess. And I’m worried it’s never going to straighten itself out. What if it never gets better? What if one day I’m in that really dark place again and this time I don’t want to get out of it. If I’ve just had enough and I want it all to be over? What then?”

“Then you look at your wife and your kids and you think about how much you have to live for. That you have people that love you and need you. That should be enough. To keep you going.”

“I hope so,” he sighs. “I really hope so.”

“Remember that quote I told you? In Dhaka? About the river?”

“That you don’t drown by falling into the river but by staying submerged in it. Yeah, I remember.”

“This is the river now. What’s going on inside your head. And only you can decide if you want to let it pull you under, or if you want to fight it and get out. No one else can make that choice for you. Even if we want to.”

Tyler nods slowly, considering the kid’s words.

“You know,” Ovi says, sighing heavily. “You’re not my father. But you are my dad.”

Tears sting his eyes; emotion chokes at him. There are no words to adequately express what he’s feeling at this exact moment; as those honest and heartfelt words sink it. So instead he wraps his arm around Ovi’s shoulder and draws him tight to his side. 

“It’s been quite the journey,” the kids says. “Not always an easy one, but…”

“Definitely not for the weak,” Tyler smirks.

“What do you think will happen now? Where do you think we’ll end up? How will we end up?”

“I don't know,” Tyler admits. “But I guess all we can do is just take it one step at a time.”


End file.
